


Proficio

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Honey Honey [32]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Coffee Shops, Deaf Clint Barton, Intergluteal Sex, Internalized body issues, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Relationship Discussions, Restlessness, Rimming, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22994773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Amy hasn’t been to this place too often - it’s a place she likes and one she makes a semi-regular haunt of since she found it. They’ve got a big professional coffee machine but there’s only like the two baristas on the regular, so it’s a proper little hole in the wall place. They walk together but nottogether, with her and James alongside Steve because James can’t take Steve’s arm in public. Like genuinely, if she thought it were about embarrassment or creepiness or whatever, she’d’ve said so to James ages ago and then tried to convince him to out Steve as a creepy weirdo, but James has told her a few times now that it’s a mutual decision to keep them out of the public eye.Privately, she’s not convinced.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Honey Honey [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/943938
Comments: 113
Kudos: 379





	Proficio

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ZepysGirl and Buckybleeds for information about coffee joints and tax, and thanks to my braintwin for listening to my rambling.

Steve gets back from his run at around five-thirty by design, his feet pounding the slush-wet paving and, at times, the asphalt in Brooklyn, stomp, stomp, stomp until he gets to his door. Brooklyn is, of course, really already awake. She never really sleeps, although she's quieter than Manhattan. Still, everywhere's quieter than Manhattan, so it doesn't count. There are vendors dropping counters and store owners raising shutters. Steve used to nod to the paper boy and the grocer on his way to work when he was young, give Mrs Giordano a wave on his walk past, scratch the O'Grady's cat under the chin, pet the Fiore's dog if the dog was sitting on the steps.

The streets have changed, the world has changed, but the people who inhabit Brooklyn have not, not really. The spirit stays the same. They're all working hard and trying to be friendly in a city that can be unfriendly as hell at times, so Steve still nods to the delivery boy and the grocer as he jogs past. He knows Shortstop, the black cat on the corner, who belongs to Dondrea-who-owns-the-muffin-shop, and the golden retriever on the step is Mr Juan Carlos' dog, Soleado, who's getting on in years just like Mr Juan Carlos. Steve knows which route the milk guys, Enos and Greg (unless Andy's taking over), take and, just like every morning, he stepped off the sidewalk today and 'jay-ran' for five steps to avoid Mack, the mailman, who mirrored Steve's grin for his trouble. It's Steve's neighborhood, although it took him long enough to relearn.

But his skin is itching and the sun's been coming up slow, bright awareness coming back to the streets. Okay, sure, it won't be up for an hour or two yet, but the horizon lightens over to the east, and he spared that lightening some glances as he ran, where the sky was turning into a muted rainbow where it had been the murky-dark of the city-lit night before. It's colder now the clouds have cleared, his breath formed clouds, and his home is a haven to him from all of it.

When he gets in he goes upstairs to finish his morning routine - shower and jerk off (maybe twice this morning considering how his nerves are buzzing), shave, eat breakfast, and wait for James to get up, at which point, make breakfast for James and eat another one for himself - he gets upstairs and finds, instead, proof that James feels safe in their home. James isn't shy, per se, that's not the best way to describe him. Steve would call him more…cautious. Calculating. He thinks a lot - sometimes James _over_ thinks, but that's a trait Steve shares with him, so he can sympathize. In fact, they have a lot in common when it comes to working things out and thinking things through. 

Steve feels safe in his home because he checks it himself regularly, and his alarm and access systems are monitored by the most advanced artificial intelligence system in the world, and not interfered with by humans or oversight or upgrades or whatever else. Tony means well, Tony _always_ means well, but Steve's a lot happier knowing it's Tony's algorithms and software that keeps him safe than he would be if he thought there were teams of people monitoring the place. Or anybody _else's_ algorithms and software. There's no surveillance, only protection, and it's one of the reasons he's happy to sleep without a weapon, one of the reasons he's happy to wander around naked or nap on his couch. 

And the same is true for James. When he gets upstairs, James, comfortable in the regulated temperature of the home they share, and sleeping soundly in the knowledge that their home is a castle, has gathered the quilt and several pillows to his body and wrapped himself around them, forming his own body-pillow for a Steve stand-in. He's also completely naked, just the way Steve went to bed with him last night and left him this morning, and James like this makes makes quite the welcome-home picture. 

Maybe the next time he asks to paint James, it'll be like this, naked and comfortable and happy in their home, sprawled invitingly and without a care in the world in the low, low light of the warm-white Christmas lights that are on like nightlights downstairs. 

James has inadvertently preserved his own modesty just from the way he's lying and he looks as entirely natural as a pose like this must be - wrapped around, and inside, and atop the quilt, like he's made a nest for himself, he's almost totally face-down. Steve sees the back of his head and his thick, dark hair cinched in a bun, the beautiful slope of his spine, the very, very appealing swell of his ass, and his thighs - one of which is thrown over the pile of quilt/pillows, the other of which is flat against the mattress. So he also looks like pretty much the best thing Steve's ever seen.

He loves James for a great many things - his sense of humor, his intelligence, his passion, his compassion, but James has a hell of a body, too, and Steve wants him. 

Steve always wants him, of course, and he’s going to start making an effort to tell him more, but sometimes it sits with everything else in his mind. Want you, love you, need you. And then sometimes it's a statement, first in his thoughts over everything else, body following very hot on its heels.

_Want._

Like now. But James is sleeping, is the thing, and there's a lot to consider about it. Firstly, James works office-hours, not Steve's rotation-hours. His weekends are his downtime, and his weekdays are work first, so his sleep is important. Second, Steve knows his own demands can be a little…energy-consuming. There's a reason James sleeps so late and naps so often and, though he's never complained, it's something Steve's very aware of. Besides which, sleep is enjoyable James is taking the day to be with Steve following the hell-of-a-weekend that they had. That means there's no real need to wake James at all, besides the fact that he's incredibly impatient. He settles for watching for a while instead with the knowledge that James will wake eventually and then Steve will get to make him very happy indeed.

Until then he'll just have to live with not-touching his sleeping partner. He'll consider it his reward, when James finally does wake, for putting himself through waiting. Abstinence now for indulgence later. 

He goes back downstairs and grabs his sketchbook from the studio, and a few pencils, a few other supplies. He'll sketch for inspiration - he still needs to finish that painting from the Waldorf, and he might as well get a little practise in. Which is his excuse and he's sticking to it.

"I," he mutters to himself as he climbs the stairs, "am gonna draw that ass."

And if he's a little sing-song about it, can anybody blame him? He's having a great morning so far, and it's only just started. The sun isn't even up for goodness' sakes - not that that's a problem for the serum, thanks very much being-able-to-draw-in-the-dark - and his muscles are warm, his mind is humming away. 

He grabs one of the footstools from the upstairs living area, too, and takes that into the bedroom with him on his way back. He will resist touching James, of course - James is sleeping. But as soon as James wakes up, Steve's gonna get his hands on all that skin, yes sir.

He settles down, turns to a new blank page so he can really concentrate (one masterpiece deserves another) and gets to 'work.'

***

James is fuzzy when he comes to. He doesn't get catapulted straight into consciousness, he becomes aware of the bed beneath him and smiles. The sheets smell like both of them, and the pillow he's currently got his face in definitely smells like Steve. He shifts just a little - not even a move, really, just a flex of muscle, and then settles again. And then he opens his eyes - he's not in the bedclothes. It takes him a few moments to get it, but he recognizes that there's places on his body he's definitely not feeling fabric. Which makes sense given where in the bed he is - he's flopped around a lot, and he vaguely remembers Steve leaving, vaguely recalls waking at one point and gathering all the bedclothes close. He was too warm, but he sleeps much better now with something between his legs, which is true enough that it makes him smile. It can be anything - a pillow, a quilt, but it's usually at least one of Steve's thighs, and once or twice it's been Steve's waist - but it helps. And so he's kicked off the covers in favor of making a makeshift boyfriend out of them, it seems, which leaves his ass and his back and his thighs out right now. James bites his lip and flexes his hips forward, burrows a little further into his snuggle pile and breathes in the scent of Steve's cologne.

It's a thrill, that's what it is. Like once he fell asleep in his bedroom with his pajama pants still around his thighs from jerking off and it was like four in the morning and the whole house was asleep, and he woke up ten minutes later. Nobody saw him, nobody caught him, (as least as far as he knows) but they _could_ have.

James is _naked_ , and he's not even covering himself with the quilt. He's naked and it's dark out and he's not covered by the quilt and he could roll onto his back and lie all sexy like and wait for Steve to get back, or he could roll over and jerk off right now, or he could rub off on the quilts (he wouldn't, ew. Not without discussing it first anyway, they’d have to do laundry) or he could reach back and lube up and get on all fours and wait for Steve.

He won't, because he’s comfortable. But he could.

~

Steve cheats a little. After he's been sitting where he is for maybe half an hour, James shifts. And, when he does, when James' breathing changes and that one thigh hitches up just a little more, Steve doesn't alter anything on the page about where James' leg oughta be. He ought to redraw but, instead, he just erases a line of quilt and redraws it to accommodate the little bit of fabric that moved, pencils in the swell of James' balls where he can just about see it between James' legs now. He chews his lower lip for a second as he puts in a little shading, stares at all that skin and pretends it's because he's trying for accuracy. He'd like to get his mouth on it but he can wait, he _can_ \- he can exercise self-restraint, he does it all the time, even though he’s been hard for a while now, and James will probably drift right back off to sleep any second.

But James doesn't do that.

~

James' skin is warming up, he's aware of more of it now, and there's a tingle between his shoulder blades, another on the sole of his left foot. He wishes there weren't - he wants to go back to sleep, but he's waking little by little and it's the itch at the crease where thigh meets ass that gets his attention first. It's so acute a sensation that it almost feels like needles, that it'll make his thigh jump and ruin the warm fuzziness of waking slowly, so he reaches back, down, and scrapes his fingernails over the skin twice.

Steve, because James registers that it's Steve almost before he's registered that he's heard something, snorts. 

James lifts his head, looks back over his shoulder, down the length of his body, to see Steve sitting at the end of the bed, by the balcony railing, sketchbook in his lap. Steve's still in his running clothes and he's got a pencil in his hand, which is how James knows it's his sketch book in his lap, but he's like literally directly in line with James' ass. Like, James can't see the lower half of Steve's body because his own ass cheeks are in the way. Steve is staring at him, from what James can see in the mostly-dark.

"Mph," he says, and flops his head back down into the pillow, smiling because he's just been caught scratching his ass. “Hi.”

"Morning," Steve says, sounding about as wry as James expects him to be looking. "You want breakfast?"

Given that it's not light, out or inside, James would rather be asleep. Still, in the face of that offer, James doesn't want breakfast. 

"Can think of something you can eat," he says instead, even the implication of it making his cock tingle with a rush of blood.

He's learning to ask for what he wants, and be unashamed when he does, but it's still enough to make his breath catch a little. He tries to be brave and bold, too, and musters up his courage to wiggle his ass at Steve, given that there's no way Steve will miss it. He doesn't lift his head again to see if it worked, but he doesn't need to. He can hear Steve moving around and knows he's either going to get what he wants or not. Not, most likely, because he hasn't showered since they fucked last night, but Steve's the greatest American tactician of WW2 and he can probably think of somethi-

"Lemme get a dam," Steve says, voice low and rough, and then there are three footsteps moving fast and he's rummaging around in the nightstand and oh, oho right, yeah.

James, face half-hidden behind his forearm when Steve walks into view, and mostly sunken into the pillow anyway, watches him. Steve's careful, calm, but James knows there's no stopping him. Big hands on big forearms go through the stuff in the nightstand, and James watches the tendons, the hair on his skin, watches huge fingers come back with a dam and a condom. Steve's hard in his compression pants, a dark swathe of oddly-shaped shadow between his legs in the almost-darkness.

"Up," Steve says, and he gets a knee on the bed as he tears open the condom with his teeth.

James obliges as he shuts his eyes and hides his smile in his arm, tilts his hips down so his ass points up, spreads his legs a little more than they're spread already. He doesn’t need to get on all fours, Steve can work with him how he is.

~

Steve loves manhandling James. He knows by this point that James likes it too, obviously, but there's something about the power of grabbing him and moving him where Steve wants him, something about the physical authority he can exert thanks to the serum, that's such a turn on when James just takes it. But it's better still, when he _asks_ for it, when he tells Steve what he wants and lets Steve give it. Steve's hands weren't itching so badly when he had a pencil in them but they sure started up again when James asked to get his ass eaten.

He grabs for James' cock underneath him, bends it back to get the condom on it, and James moans, sweet and soft, as he does, as he sheathes in in latex and strokes a couple times just for fun. Steve considers keeping his cock there for fun, too, so he can have it close to get his mouth on, but James can't hump the quilt if his cock isn't up against it, and that would work better with a good rimjob. Steve stuffs it back under James (more carefully than he makes it seem) and opens the dam instead.

James has his head against the pillow, against his arm, and if he wants to keep his face hidden for now, Steve's got plenty of access to what he needs to get to anyway. James' ass is a fuckin' peach for sure, he's said as much before, and he'll get James on his back later, watch all those pretty faces James makes - maybe he'll finger him real slow, or suck him off a couple times, or tie him up and strap his cock to a vibrator or, fuck-

"Fuck, I'm really fuckin' turned on right now," Steve hears himself grunt, and he situates himself on his stomach on the bed, face about level with James' ass, he's not wasting time now - he wasted enough letting James sleep, and feels like a terrible person for having such a thought.

But the guilt can wait - he gets his arms under James' thighs, inside to out, and then curls his arms around James’ hips to spread James' ass far as he can with his hands and get the dam over his hole. And then, well, he's been staring at James' ass for half an hour, it's only fair he finally get his goddamn face in it.

~

James doesn't bother stopping the noise he makes into the pillow, literally couldn't care less - this is how he wants to wake up every day for the rest of his life and he wants Steve to hear how much he likes this, wants Steve to know how fucking awesome it feels.

 _"Fuck,"_ he groans, because Steve's apparently feeling _ruthless_ today, and he can't spread his legs any wider because Steve's got his huge arms wrapped around them. 

James is blushing scarlet and breathing fast and Steve's given him a condom so it turns out he doesn't have to worry about making a mess of the bed, not that he can get a thrust in when Steve's holding him fast like this. Steve pulls off with the sort of wet noise that makes James' hair stand on end, and growls, 

"One day I'll put you in kômon sarashi and do this 'til you're beggin' me," and James doesn't know what that is but okay, sure!

Steve sucks at the skin on the inside of James' ass cheek through the latex, and he's gonna make hickeys on James' ass cheeks if he's not careful (except he wouldn't, and James wouldn't care if he did).

"Fuck, I love you," James says, lifts his head out of the cushions to moan it back at Steve.

Steve answers by shoving his tongue against James' hole and pushing, and James can't keep still. He grabs at the bedclothes and twists his torso and lifts his head and drops his head and shoves his head against the mattress and Steve's so good at this, Steve's _so good._

~

James can't really do much about Steve's grip on him, but Steve can rut against the mattress, and he does - nice and slow while Steve sucks against James' hole, pushing his tongue against the textured flesh through the latex dam. James doesn't keep quiet today, and Steve's glad for it, Steve wants him to be this loud all the time.

It's not even light out yet although it's getting that way little by little - the sky is dark blue outside and it feels illicit, feels like a stolen moment, like the world's awake but doesn't know yet that they exist, so he's going to make the most of it. He gives James a little leeway so he can start maybe getting a some friction against the bedclothes, and then doubles down, messy kisses over latex-covered skin, worrying both between his teeth when he can suck hard enough to get a bit of each. He presses his tongue against the latex and gives it enough slack that he can push inward, start pressing against the muscle to loosen it up. He's not getting in there this morning, but he'll be damned if he doesn't make James feel as good as he can. Plus, this way they can kiss after, _fuck,_ Steve wants to kiss him. Steve wants to do _everything he can think of_.

"That's it," Steve says whenever he breaks away, or variations thereof. "Like that?"

And James moans back at him,

 _"Yeah!"_ and sounds filthy doing it.

Steve's not sure what's gotten into himself but doesn't much care at this point, and James doesn't either from the sound of things. It's early as hell on a Monday morning and Steve's got everything he needs right here.

James starts to really thrust up against the quilt, rubbing his cock against the fabric through the condom, and Steve follows James' thrusts, bobbing his head as James starts to work himself up. He inches his body closer a moment later, hitches himself further up the bed so he can get his mouth where it needs to be wherever James moves to. He doesn't think James can come on his mouth alone but he's willing to make this the best dry-hump of James' recent memories, and he shoves his own hips down as he lifts his head to get a good look, grinds against the bed for a moment while he stretches James open some more.

"Damn, look at you," he mutters - wet and pink and looser through the latex every time Steve looks, Steve can't think of anything besides how James looks good enough to eat and _he's the one who gets to do it._

He gets back to work until he wants to look, looks until he wants to get to work, and James' legs bend and straighten, his spine undulates. He's not going anywhere fast, though, and Steve licks a long, slow stripe up from his balls, up over his perineum, until he can swirl his tongue over James' hole.

"Oh-h-h," James says, and Steve hums a chuckle against him.

He eases his grip a little more and James immediately takes advantage, rubbing his cock against the bedclothes fast, so Steve follows him. He thinks about maybe staying where he is, maybe letting James come to him, but James is doing that anyway - shoving back against his mouth and holding himself there every thrust before the urge to jam his hips forward takes over again. He hasn't gotten James to sit on his face yet but he will, James has always made very interested noises about it and Steve will take whatever James lets him have.

"Get you to ride my mouth," Steve says, "go real hard at it."

James can jerk himself off then, one hand on the headboard, thighs bracketing Steve's head - maybe they can sixy-nine if James is up for it. He wants to make James feel good, he wants to make James make all these sweet, desperate little sounds - he's strong enough to do whatever James wants, to give whatever James wants to take, and boy howdy does he ever wanna give. 

Rolling his hips on the mattress will have him finishing if he's not careful about it, but James's short, shallow thrusts are pretty good - Steve can _hear_ as much in the half-mumbled mantra James keeps repeating. It's just yes, and Steve, and oh, alongside the minute creak of the bedframe, but it's all music to Steve's ears, loud in his ears and bright behind his eyelids in the dark and quiet of the conversion.

He takes another look, pink skin and pliant muscle, and shakes his head, plants his elbows. 

"I'm so fuckin' lucky," he mutters, and sucks kisses over James' hole, shakes his head when he's got his tongue in as far as he can with the barrier, and James moans and whines and thrusts harder, speeding up.

"Yeah," he whines, and Steve could listen to that noise forever. "Yeah, please, _please,"_ and James knows he doesn't have to ask but does it anyway, knows Steve will give him what he wants but always makes it sound like a favor.

"Mmmmah love you," Steve says, speaking before he's fully pulled away, pulling away only long enough to speak.

"I wanna," James says on a breath, "oh I'm," and then he is - Steve sucks hard over James' hole, pulses his tongue against it as it pulses under his mouth, and James groans, and then keens, and then says, 

"Ahh, _ahhhhhh,"_ and jerks his ass back against Steve's mouth.

Steve's actually going to combust, he's going to burst into flames, stick a fork in him he's fuckin' burning up already, but James reaches back and grabs a fistful of Steve's hair as he makes more of those sweet, shallow thrusts, more of those pretty, desperate little noises and shoves back and thrusts forward over, and over. 

Steve could pull back if he wanted to but come on, why in hell would he want to?

"Fuck," he hears James grate out, long and loud, and he shakes his head again a little while James starts coming down. 

He used to be good at this anyhow, apparently, but the serum's given him plenty by way of figuring out what a partner likes. Hearing a rise in heart-rate or a change in breathing, seeing pupil dilation, feeling the flex of muscle under his mouth - he knows when James is done, and he keeps going for a little while after because it ain't nice to leave a guy hanging, to push him into nothing, cold turkey, and James gradually relaxes the fingers in Steve's hair. 

Steve can't relax, not at all - something's burning under his skin, simmering in his blood, and the only thing stopping him taking what he wants right this second is that James isn't done, James is his priority.

"Oh," James gasps, and Steve unwinds his arms from James' thighs, throws the dam at the, who cares, floor or whatever, and pushes himself up so he can plant his hand up by James' shoulder, get his other hand around the back of James' head so he can turn James' head back for a kiss. 

It's a mess, too - they clash, and Steve's face is wet from his own saliva against the latex, and James' mouth is hanging open, but all that's half the fun.

"Sorry," James gasps "I didn't brush my teeth-"

"Yeah, I'm," Steve pants, "latex so…"

Steve lets go of James' head while they kiss and starts fishing blindly for the nightstand without breaking away - they're close enough that he can get the drawer open. When he finds a condom, he pulls his hand back and then breaks away from James, sits back on his heels and yanks his pants and his underwear down so he can put it on.

"Y'okay?" he says, breathing already heavy, and he throws the condom packet and starts rummaging for the lube - it's definitely in here, he had it last night and he needs it now, so where the hell?

James flops back into the pillows, wiggles his hips a little more.

"Yeah," he says. "You want me to blow you?"

Steve shakes his head, frowns, no, no he doesn't, he's got a plan, he just needs the lube, where-

"No, doll, I wantcha to lie right where you are, god _damn,_ where is the fuckin' _lube-"_ Jackpot! "Ha!" 

He isn't precise about it, he doesn't need to be and doesn't want to waste the time - he gets enough on his dick that it'll warm with his body heat and won't chafe James, and then he throws the bottle to one side, less restraint with each passing second. He hears the bottle _bounce_ and doesn't care.

"I'm gonna fuck your ass," he breathes, and James looks over his shoulder at him, brow furrowed.

"I didn't," he says, but Steve's already shaking his head. 

"Not like that," he says, and then he's spreading James' ass again and shuffling forward on his knees until he can lay his dick down where he's just had his face. "Yeah?"

James laughs - actually, he giggles - but then he snorts and puts his head down.

"Yeah, sure," he says, "go for it, hot dog," and Steve shakes his head, rolling his eyes but, God, he's got James' ass in his hands and his dick snug between those cheeks, ain't a place in the world he'd rather be.

"Mhh," he groans, and he starts thrusting then, squeezing James' ass around his dick with both hands. 

He can't remember the last time he did this but he also can't remember the last time he wanted so badly to get something, anything, regardless of time of day or state of undress or whatever - James' ass is pale and smooth and covered in hair that's just a little more than peach fuzz, and it fits in his hands like it was _made_ to fit in his hands, his dick fits right there like it was made for that, too. It's like a relief when pleasure washes over him, like ice on a burn, like water in a desert - his whole body lights up with _yes! Finally!_ and he lets his mouth drop open, lets his eyes close.

 _"Oh,_ yeah," he breathes, goosebumps coming up on his skin head to toe like sinking into honey.

He opens his eyes, watches the head of his cock, red and wet inside the latex, poke up toward the small of James' back with each thrust, and sucks his lower lip into his mouth - this is one of those times he's gotta be careful 'cause he _really_ doesn't want to be, he really doesn't want to have to restrain himself because-

"God," he mutters, mouth open to breathe as he thrusts into the channel James has let him make.

James squeezes his ass cheeks together himself a moment later, tight as he can before he releases, and he's smirking back over his shoulder but Steve only realizes once he's reopened his eyes, not that he meant to close them. He gives James a breathless smile in response, and James bites his lip and does it again.

"Oh," Steve says, arching his spine as though it'll somehow get his dick closer to James, staring down at where James' ass cheeks trap his cock, God, it's pretty, it's such a fucking turn on to watch.

"That all you got?" James says, like he's reading Steve's mind, and Steve gives up.

He widens his knees for balance and leans back and tightens his grip on James' hips, and then he goes at it, head and shoulders mostly still, letting his core do the work.

"Oh fuck, you feel good," he manages, strained.

He tips his head back for a second or two, eyes closed as he moans at the ceiling, but he wants to see, he wants to look at the gorgeous expanse of skin, and the knowing sparkle in James' eyes. He's not disappointed when he looks back, either - James is still watching him, and squeezes his cheeks together again as Steve drives forward in earnest.

"How you doin'?" James asks, and Steve manages to say,

"Ah-hah-hah," before he's baring his teeth and hissing through them.

Even through the condom, he can feel the difference between smooth skin and furled, and the cooler air on the tip of his dick every time he thrusts forward, how the heat between James' cheeks swallows him back up when he pulls back. James stays that tight, just lies that way and watches, and Steve's a goner anyway but way moreso when James is looking at him like that.

He has to watch it - he wants to grip tight and he knows he can leave bruises, but it's so good it makes his ears ring, so strong it makes him dizzy. He gets like this sometimes, sure, but they fucked not even ten hours ago, and Steve still can't get enough.

He lets go with one hand, sets it against the small of his back to ease the ache in the base of his spine. It's not pain, just strain - his body wants him to move faster, faster, but he's got to be careful, he has to be aware of James' limits. He wets his lips 'cause he's breathing so hard it's dried them out, stares at the smooth skin and soft hair that he gets to have his way with, watches the curve of James' spine and the set of his shoulders, shakes his head when he sees how James is looking at him.

Lucky doesn't even begin to cover it.

"God, you're gorgeous," he says, and James smiles broadly, all teeth and crinkled eyes, what a dime, "James, uhn, fuck-"

He tightens up again anyway, and Steve might end up seeing stars, Steve might end up passing out. It's good, James knows that, Steve drops his mouth open and groans, shuffles his knees a little 'cause they're slipping outward and he wants more leverage.

"Doing okay?" James says, and Steve sort of laughs but it's more just a huff of breath, more just that the corner of his mouth twitches up before he's gasping for breath again.

It feels like he's been waiting for this for hours, feels like he's been after this for days, his body winding up fast, and he feels the sting of it curling up between his legs and in the pit of his stomach, tensing all his muscles, heat prickling out all over his skin.

"Yeah," James says, smirking. "That good?"

"Aw, fuck," Steve breathes, and James laughs.

"Yeah?"

"Aw, _fuck,_ " Steve answers, "oh, _oh_ -"

Don't bruise him, _don't bruise him,_ but _oh God-_

 _"Nngh!"_ and it's exactly what he wants, it's exactly what he was working for, exactly what he needed after fifteen miles in barely above freezing, and a half hour of staring at James' ass.

It curls his body forward, pulls his stomach tight, makes the tendons in his neck ache, makes his mouth open and his eyes squeeze shut - he feels like he could thread himself dick-first through a needle with how hard his body's trying to shove him forward, _damn._

It's strong but short, doesn't last the way they can sometimes, and slows down soon enough, the hard, thudding pulse of it giving way to muscle contractions that are more like a heartbeat and less like an assault on his senses. His shoulders hunched, his chest heaving - he's not even out of his compression gear, what the hell.

He tips his head back and just breathes for a few seconds and, when he looks down at James again, James is smirking.

"Good morning, you animal," he says, and Steve puts his hands either side of James' hips and lowers himself down until he can kiss James' spine, gasping. 

"Mhh," he says, and works his way up kiss by kiss until he's all but lying on top of James, until his mouth is under James' ear.

James turns his head for another kiss over his shoulder then, and Steve takes it and breaks it a moment later to press his forehead to James' temple, catching his breath while breathing James'. After a few long moments, he rolls off to one side, onto his back, and James has to lift his head and turn it the other way to see him.

"Hi," Steve says, a rush of breath as he smiles, and James gives him a wry smirk in return.

"Worn out, old man?"

Steve narrows his eyes.

"I ran fifteen miles, kid," he says.

"Mmmh," James answers, lifts his shoulder towards his chin, playing coy, and he gives what he can see of Steve a long, slow once-over. "And then lasted, what, forty seconds?"

Steve scoffs, leans forward and kisses him - briefly this time. When he pulls back, James yawns but ends it with a smile.

"Felt pretty good," he says. "That my treat for today?"

"One of 'em," Steve nods. 

"Hmm," James says. "And do I want to know what time it is?"

Steve winces. It's not even six yet, so he shakes his head.

"No," he says, "that's another treat - you get to go back to sleep."

"And wake up to pancakes?" James says, his eyes already closed. "How nice!"

"Yeah, yeah, alright," he says, stripping off the condom. "After my nap."

James laughs, and Steve tugs his shirt over his head, tags jangling as they fall back to his chest, and chucks it, pulls his shorts off his legs, and then he rolls towards James and kisses him, softer this time, while he wipes up between James' cheeks with the shorts to get as much of the lube as he can.

James hums softly into his mouth, already sinking into sleep again when Steve rolls away.

"Chocolate chip?" Steve asks, wiping himself off with a clean corner of the shorts too, but he keeps his voice low now James is on his way out again.

"Mmm," James answers. "S'n's g'd."

Steve smiles, looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head.

Not a bad start to the day, all things considered. Shame James has to go to work.

He lies still for a minute or two, waits for James' breathing to even out, and then he sits up and stands, and looks for the things he threw off the bed before.

***

He's feeling restless today, in a good way - perhaps because he did so little over Christmas and the New Year, perhaps because the weekend ended up slow and painful - and he looks around the place. He hasn't polished in a while, hasn't dusted. He doesn't need to vacuum except in the bedrooms, but it's not even seven in the morning and James has gone back to sleep, vacuuming is a ridiculous idea.

Or he could cook! He could make-

Steve’s driving him to the tower this morning but he'll be there in the middle of the day so they can have lunch, what are they even having for lunch? For dinner? He hasn't thought about it. He hasn't bought anything special in, he could go to the store and grab something. They have plenty in already, though, and he's loath to waste it.

Golly, maybe he could run a little more energy off on the treadmill, huh, buddy? Slow down, Jeez.

He looks around their home - the gaps mostly filled on the bookshelves, the not-as-many spaces on the walls. James lives here with him, _they_ live here, and there is a lightness in his chest that was not there before.

He'll clean, he decides. He'll clean and he'll tidy and he'll spruce the place up a little - now's the best time for it, it being new year and all.

He heads over to the bar and goes behind it, picks up the bottle of yellow chartreuse and a bottle of veuve clicquot. He doesn't like either of them, they've been sitting there since Tony gave them to him for a housewarming present. It's not Tony's fault either, Steve was telling what he calls the "Veuve Story" and Tony overheard and thought it would make a nice gift, but Steve's never going to drink them. And, from the way James' tastes run, neither is James. 

He puts both bottles on the bar counter and resolves to ask James if his parents like either, or both. 

He goes through his other bottles - all good stuff, of course, because he bought none of it himself, and he purges the one or two things he's been given that he hasn't already had. If he'd wanted to drink them, most would be long gone by now. There's a weird rosé he got for a TV appearance, and a red that was one of two, the first of which he resolutely did _not_ enjoy and so he's not going to take up room with the second any longer.

There's a vodka, a rum, he'll keep those 'cause he's got no idea if James likes them, and he's keeping all his fancy cream liqueurs and not counting how many there are because he's got a sweet tooth and an alcohol immunity, and some of those things are real nice in a coffee or hot chocolate. Brandy, he's got - expensive for drinking and cheap for cooking - and likewise two sherries. Several whiskeys, whose quality he can't really speak to 'cause he drank a lot of hooch in the war and some of that stuff tasted like petrol and some of this stuff tastes like muddy ground, and there’s a couple of colorful things that sparkle when he tips them into the light. One's from Wanda but he can't remember which, so he keeps them all and he and James will try them later. 

When he's done purging bottles, he dusts the ones that are left, polishes the countertop and the mirrored portion of the shelves. Then he goes for the kitchen counters. 

The coffee maker can stay where it is but the toaster makes the place look a mess if it ain't bein' used so he makes a space for it in the cupboard where the appliances live and closes the door good and happy. He wants somewhere better for the cutting boards, and he's thinking of making a new block for their knives, but those problems ain't right-now problems - he'll get to 'em next time he's got nothing to do. He wipes down the counters and cleans the faucet, and he gives the coffee maker a once-over, too.

Next, he rummages through one of the cupboards he wants to sort out. There's little shelves that line the insides of his spice cupboard 'cause he made them to go in there, but he's got two paprika and an empty cardamom, and his garlic powder's congealed into a giant lump of garlic rock, so he amalgamates the paprikas and shoves the spare container and the empty cardamom one into the recycling. He'll remember to get more at the store - the serum will see to that. He takes a literal stab at the garlic rock too, careful not to jab straight through the glass with the steak knife he's using to break it back up into powder. He's got a cupboard for tins and a cupboard for dry goods, there are sauce packets and just-about-instant rice and noodles, and he gets halfway through what he's doing when he has a brainwave. He's looking at a tin of legumes that the expiry says he doesn't want to keep much longer, and realizes there's Italian sausage in the refrigerator, so he heaves the crock pot out of the back of the cupboard where the appliances live, and then he dumps the tin in, and one of tomatoes, and then the sausage, and some spare bacon, all helped along with a little stock. He chops an onion and throws that in when he realizes the only veg is the tomatoes, and the vegetable rack has a couple of slightly sad looking carrots so he does them too, and sets the crock pot going so he doesn't have to worry about food later.

After that, he's still restless, so he does the TV area - he straightens up the furniture and the rugs, gets the remotes all neat and tidy, makes sure the cushions are fluffed and the blankets are folded and close to hand if they're needed. He gets rid of old TV guides and newspapers, and polishes the things that need polishing, dust the things that need dusting. He does the reading section, too - puts books away and straightens the furniture, and dusts the bookshelves even though they're mostly clean. When he's done that, he's practically back where he started, and he plants his hands on his hips as he looks around. His mother would suggest he wash the windows but he ain't that far gone, not yet. 

"Hmm," he says instead, and considers getting dressed, but if he gets dressed then he might get dirty and so he settles for sticking to the buff instead. 

Oh, he'll paint, that's what he'll do! He'll never get Waldorf James done for Valentine's otherwise, that'll work, he'll paint. He'll catch some nice light to work in if he goes now, too.

***

When James wakes up at seven, he goes to the bathroom and showers and dresses, and then he pads down the stairs, hand ruffling the lights and garlands wrapped around the rail.

Steve hustles into view when he's about halfway down. 

Steve is totally naked apart from his tag chain and its accoutrements, and there are splotches of color all over him. Paint, it looks like. His dick is also half hard, and James smiles bemusedly.

"Hi!" Steve says, and James waves.

"Hey?" he answers.

Steve waits by the bottom of the stairs so he can kiss James hello-

Mmh, _hello!_

And then he hustles back over to the kitchen. 

"I'll do those pancakes," he says. 

James watches him for a moment and then shakes his head with a smile, goes back up the stairs and finds a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. If Steve's going to be cooking, it's in both their interests - healing factor or no - that he covers up at least a little. 

Steve must have made the batter earlier because James smells the pancakes cooking before he's even made it back down the stairs, and Steve's-

James guffaws - Steve is wearing an apron but nothing else, and he flashes James a huge grin as James walks over to him.

"Whaddya think?" he says. "I didn't have a frilly pinafore but I thought you could maybe get me one for Valentine's-"

James has to hang onto Steve's arm he's laughing so hard.

"Look at your ass!" he says, eyes squeezed shut. "I can't believe- Ha, you're so-"

Steve, when James pries his eyes open again, is still smiling at him, more warmly now.

"Can't look at my ass, my head doesn't turn that far."

"I'll take a picture!" James answers, and then he shakes his head, throws the shirt at the table. "You doofus, here-" And he unfolds the sweatpants, leans down and holds them out. "Step into these."

Steve looks down at them, then back at James' face.

"Are you serious?" he says, and James puts his hands on his hips. 

"Apron or no, what's it gonna hurt to have two layers instead of one between you and your SIC? Certainly not gonna hurt your SIC!"

Steve pulls a face, slaps his hand against his chest as he tips his head back, and laughs at the ceiling. 

"Stop calling it that!" he says, but he's still chuckling, and he shuffles sideways a moment later, puts his feet into the leg holes. 

James pulls the sweatpants up over Steve's legs, up over his ass, 

"Bye," he says to it, and Steve grabs at the counter with one hand as he laughs, but keeps an eye on the pancake as James wraps both arms around him, totally just to check that the waistband's sitting right.

"What's got _into_ you today?" he says, but Steve's not wearing a shirt which means his spine is right there, so James presses kisses to it and folds his hands over Steve's stomach from behind instead.

"Eh, I dunno," Steve says, but he says it slow, gentle. He turns his head a little - James can see one raised eyebrow when he looks up and cranes his neck. "Just…happy you're here. You know?"

"Mmmmmh," James nods. "I know what you mean. By which I mean, 'me too,' in case you were wondering."

Steve bobs his eyebrows (James presumes it's eyebrows plural - he can only see one) and goes back to the pancakes, and James lets go of him to go set the table. Usually Steve does it, but like…they both live here now, right? 

He also sets the coffee machine going and then, because Steve's just put a pancake aside and has put the pan down in order to go pick up the batter, James reaches out on his way past. It's safe, because Steve has nothing in his hands. So James gooses him.

Steve startles hugely and turns around wide-eyed, back arching to get his ass out of James' way automatically. James just does his best to give him one of those _looks_ , one of the ones Steve always gives him - _it's a shame you're busy 'cause I can think of something else we could be doing_ \- and Steve just stares at him, brow furrowed, mouth wide open in a shocked 'o' that's also somehow a smile.

James shrugs and turns his back and goes to get the mugs make coffee. He hears Steve scoff like twenty seconds later and smiles into the cupboard when he sneaks a glance and finds that Steve is _blushing_.

~

When James comes back, it's to bring him two plates to put the pancakes on and, because he's feeling that way out today, he hooks his fingers around James' upper arm as he turns away again, to turn him back.

"Hm?" James says, and Steve leans down and kisses him briefly and then lets him on his way.

James goes pink over the bridge of his nose and fights how wide his smile threatens to be. Steve goes back to dishing up the pancakes.

"Some'a these're patchy," he says as he divvies them up. "I gotta re-season my pan."

"They're chocolate chip," James says. "They could be in literal pieces and I would still eat them."

Steve can't help smiling, nor does he try to.

"Alright," he says, checking the stove is off before he turns around, plate in each hand. "Left or right?"

"Left," James answers, which he always does, which is why Steve put the chocolate-chippiest of the pancakes on the left-hand plate.

James has made them both coffee, too, which is excellent, and Steve sets the plates down and takes off the apron, folding it over the back of his chair before he goes to take a seat. 

"Aw, I should've pulled your chair out," James says, and Steve looks at him.

"I'm pretty sure I can manage," he says. Then he pretends his chair is too heavy for one hand, grimacing as he 'bolsters' his wrist with his other hand. "Hnnggh-" The chair squeaks across the floor eventually, and Steve sits down, swiping his hand over his forehead over he does. 

James kicks him in the shin when he sits down - a small tap of bare toes against Steve's leg - and Steve winces dramatically and reaches down with a groan. 

James laughs and cuts into his pancakes, which is exactly what Steve wants - happy and well taken care of. 

"Hey," he says, taps James in the leg with his own toes, "I love you."

"I love you too, pancakes," James answers without looking up, and Steve puts his hand over his heart.

"Nobody's ever called me pancake before," he says, in as teary a voice as he can manage. 

James snorfles into his breakfast.

***

After breakfast, at around seven forty, Steve doesn't get chance to clear the plates. He's chewing his last mouthful when James takes the plate out from in front of him and he doesn’t even manage to grab for it before it’s gone.

"Mmh!" he says, because he's got his mouth full - that’s meant to be _his_ job!

"Oh shush," James answers, very long-suffering, and Steve just raises both eyebrows at him as he takes the plates away.

He sits back in his chair and looks at the empty table resignedly. Okay then, he won't take the plates to the-

"Hey!" he says this time, because James has come back for the coffee mugs. 

In fact, he gets as far as reaching out for his mug to stop James doing everything when James second-guesses him and shifts it out of his range.

"Nope!" he says. "You made breakfast!"

"James!" Steve says, scandalized, and James narrows his eyes.

"Remember the Brooklyn Bridge?" James says, and Steve shuts his mouth with a click because of course he does, their anniversary. "I want to do things because I love you. B-I-L-Y. Okay?" 

"Bily," Steve says automatically, the letters forming a word in his head.

James brightens.

"Yeah!" he says, and then he relaxes a little, another one of those looks he gave Steve when he goosed him crossing his face now. "Bily. Like OMG is ommgh or WTF can be whutafah."

Steve takes a deep breath in through his nose and blows it out slowly as he nods.

"Okay," he says, and tries to make sure it doesn't sound as reluctant as it feels. "This is…It’s hard, you know?"

James' expression softens.

"I know," he says, and he loops the fingers of one hand through both mug handles so that he can hold them out of the way while he steadies himself with his other hand and leans in for a kiss. "Thank you for letting me love you."

Steve's throat tightens a little and he clears it.

"Yeah well," he says. "I love you too."

There's that edge in James' expression again - the one that makes Steve's blood heat a little. 

"Mhm," he says, voice low, and then he turns around to take the mugs back to the kitchen counter.

He seems more at ease, too, he walks with a confidence he didn’t have before, and Steve wants him back instantly, wants the distance between them closed immediately. But he also doesn’t want to close it himself - he wants to watch James’ confidence in motion. 

"Hey," Steve says, and James looks back over his shoulder at him.

"Yeah?"

Steve jerks his head to one side in a 'come here' kind of gesture, and then says it anyway as he stands up, just in case.

"C'mere."

And James does. He rolls his eyes first, and then he leaves the mugs on the kitchen counter and comes back, step by step by step, and Steve reels him in when he gets close, reaches out for James' hand and pulls James against him to kiss him. James smiles against his mouth, slips his arms around Steve's waist, and Steve, Steve likes that - it means he has to put his arms over James’ shoulders, and they usually do it the other way around. He smiles too, James' hand pressing flat against his back, warm on his skin.

This is what he wants, _this_ , James feeling comfortable enough to take charge without asking, James feeling confident enough in his knowledge of Steve to go along without stopping all the time to check and Steve is so, so glad they talked, so glad they came to it and got through it. 

"Hmmm," he says, and James pulls away to rub their noses together, Steve leans back to make James chase him for the next kiss.

"Mmmh?" James says, like _oh really?_ and Steve accidentally breaks the kiss laughing. 

"Sorry!" 

"You're not sorry," James says, his voice low, smile beatific, and Steve tries to lean back so he’s not laughing in James’ face, slapping one hand over his mouth, but James keeps his hands where they are and sticks close to him. "You're not sorry at all."

And they both sort of chuckle for a minute, amused by each other and their situation, until Steve’s wound down enough to just look at him. And then it isn’t so much funny as is it ridiculously good fortune that James is so close because Steve’s wearing sweatpants and he’s leaning against the edge of the table and James is right there and Steve’s body’s already making its intentions known pretty obviously under the one layer of cotton. Steve’s about to say something about it - either something smart or some kind of apology - but James beats him to it.

“Up,” he says, and Steve feels both his eyebrows raise. “On the table, come on, up!” 

And James is insistent though his voice is low, is already sliding his hands down to Steve’s waist, sliding his waistband down over the curve of his ass.

“The _table?”_ Steve says, but only to check that he’s really heard what he thinks he’s heard, sweats gone as soon as the waistband passes his hips, pooling at his feet instead, and James crowds him back against the table, kisses him.

“Up,” he says, and Steve does this time, lets go of James to plant his hands and haul himself up onto the table.

“Fuck yeah,” Steve says, eyes on James’ eyes and, once he’s up, once he’s on the edge of the table, James steps up close between Steve’s legs.

He has to stand on his toes to do it but do it he does - he curls his hands over Steve’s thighs and Steve finds that he’s breathless with it already, that he’s breathing James’ air because James isn’t kissing him yet and that it’s deliberate. Steve wraps his lower legs around James’ thighs to keep him close, to stop him leaving.

“Hey,” Steve says, and James cocks an eyebrow.

“Want something, sugar?” he says. 

Steve’s blood goes hot - he can feel his blush in his ears and down his throat. Ha, nobody calls him sugar? Just like nobody buys him flowers, but James has done that, too, and James is using the height difference to his advantage. He has to be on his toes for them to kiss but if he stands with his feet flat then Steve has to lean down and the angle’s awkward. He finds that he…

He can’t. He can’t do it - he can’t kiss James unless James wants him to because his neck doesn’t bend that far and if he hunches in and, if he tries to lean forward, he’ll fall off the table.

And okay, he could hop down or lean forward more but, if he does that, this part’s over and he’s really enjoying this part so far and-

“Uhn,” he says without meaning to, because James steps up to him, James pushes his hips forward against Steve’s, the fabric of his pants catching the dry skin of Steve’s dick. James makes him wait just a little more, mouths barely apart, breath shared between them, and then he flicks his gaze up from Steve’s lips to his eyes.

“Mhm,” he says.

“Aw, come on,” Steve breathes, but he doesn’t get as far as asking for mercy because then they’re kissing, and James has both hands on Steve’s thighs to stop him going anywhere, James flexes his hips just so and-

Steve moans into his mouth, grabs for James’ head with one hand and his ass with the other to pull him close. He doesn’t have much of anywhere to go, has to basically sit still, because otherwise he’s either going to catch himself on the edge of the table or wind up somewhere that doesn’t get him nearly as much contact, and James is very much in charge. It makes a chill race up Steve’s spine and into his hair. 

“That’s it, ‘uh?” James says when they break for a moment, and Steve can feel himself frowning, can feel his body working out what’s going on - he wants more than he’s getting, he’s too turned on to think properly, and he’s not going to get a thing that James doesn’t want him to have.

“Uh?” he says, but he nods a moment later because the word he was trying to make was ‘please?’ but it came out a noise instead of something intelligible. 

He’s restless today, his blood is up, but James can see it, James can feel it and knows exactly what to do about it, and Steve doesn’t know how he got this lucky but he knows that lucky’s most certainly what he is. 

"Like that?" James asks, and Steve nods because he _does, oh,_ he does, he could do this forever.

"Love you," he says instead, and James-

James _chuckles,_ low and smooth like he expected that answer all along. Steve remembers being a hundred pounds hauling a sack of potatoes, remembers being so short he couldn't tell the style of a man's hat, and he might be six-two, and two hundred pounds naked and bone dry these days, but he remembers being hauled around, remembers _liking_ it, too, and he's kind of sorry he's no longer light enough for James to lift him onto the table himself.

"’F I was-" he says, and James pulls back a little, though he doesn't slow the unfairly languid pace of his hips, but Steve falters, because it's harder to say the words out loud than think about it in his head, "uh," and James smiles, shakes his head nice and slow.

"Take your time," he says, and then they're kissing again and Steve gonna go nuts, that's what it is, James is gonna drive him crazy.

"If I was smaller," Steve says in a rush of breath, and James hums.

"Hmm," he says, "wouldn't make no difference 'cept which one of us has to lean," and Steve, okay, Steve knows he's dating basically a prodigy and he knows they're both smart regardless of what they've achieved (and James is obviously smarter that him 'cause James went to college and got snapped up by a tech giant and is one of the lead developers on leading first-response technology) but Steve's still kind of sideswiped by it.

And it's not easy. It isn't, and he wishes it were. It's hard to hear it because his chest squeezes and his mind races - he can picture it without much difficulty, if James were a head taller than him, if Steve couldn't reach the top shelves, if he banged his knee on the coffee table instead of his shin, if he needed a queen sized bed instead of a king-and-a-bit. If he walked into their home and James could lift him, if James could haul him back, if James could wrap him up in a hug or pin him down on the bed.

Steve remembers being the little spoon, he just can't figure out if he misses it. 

But hearing that James thinks he'd love-

No, they've talked about this. Hearing that James _would_ love him anyway is hard to accept. Because that's the thing - rationally, Steve knows James is telling the truth. Now all he's got to do is convince _himself_ it's a statement of fact, and not just a belief. 

"Y'okay?" James says, and he does slow down then.

"Yeah," Steve says, has to swallow hard. "Hard to hear," and James nods.

"Well I'll keep sayin' it 'til you believe me."

"How 'bout later?" Steve says because, okay, but not now.

James just laughs - he chuckles, and Steve didn't realize he could make noises like that, Steve wasn't aware of how much James was asking permission and holding back or not reaching out - and he nods.

"Alright," he says, in a way that suggests he's humoring Steve. 

Steve finds it impossible to be surprised in the face of being hugely turned on instead. 

"Also would you-" he says, and then he pulls back and makes grabby hands "get your pants down, I wanna-"

James laughs quietly, another chuckle that's got no right being as sexy as it is (who’s he kidding? James is sex on legs), and he shakes his head as he comes in for another kiss.

“No,” he says, and Steve makes a noise of displeasure at him.

"Why?" he says, the word a mess because they're kissing, and this is good, Steve likes this, Steve pulls James closer with hands and legs and rocks against him. 

James isn’t just doing what he wants, he’s taking charge of both of them, and Steve’s missed that - not that James hasn’t ever taken the lead but this? This is more, this is more confidence, more certainty-

Steve makes little sounds that James just eats right up, spreads his legs a little more and squeezes James closer with his feet and his hands-

“Impatient, aren’t we?” James says, and Steve gets a full body shiver. 

James pulls away a second, and Steve chases him for a moment before he realizes James has done it deliberately, wonders if his lips look as swollen as they feel. 

“But,” he says, and James shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I think I’ll have my second course.”

“Huh?” Steve says, because a lot of the blood usually in his brain is now not in his brain.

James smiles, hands on Steve’s waist, and then he takes a step back, leg out behind him to hook his ankle around Steve’s chair. It’s a smooth move, Steve’ll give him that - he pulls the chair close without looking, and then takes a seat, sliding his hands down Steve’s thighs, over his knees, down his calves as he does. Steve feels his breath catch in his chest.

“Ah,” he says, a little shakily, and lifts his hands a moment before he puts them back down on the table. 

He’s got zero idea what to do with them because James is level with his dick but has also been a tease so far.

“How we doin’?” James asks, setting one hand against the inside of Steve’s thigh to spread his legs a little more, but he doesn’t appear to be talking to Steve - he’s talking to Steve’s dick.

He leans forward and kisses it a moment later, mouth open against the head, and Steve’s eyes close for a second, his head rocks back, his hand comes up but he doesn’t put it on James’ head, unsure if he’s meant to.

“Ohn,” he breathes, and James is looking up at him when he looks down, frowning.

A moment later, James licks his way down the shaft of Steve’s dick and reaches out with his _other_ hand, makes a ‘gimme’ motion, and then directs Steve’s hand to the back of his head when Steve obliges.

“Hmmmm,” he says, and then he leans back just a little, licks his lips, and gets to work.

_“-oh!”_ Steve gasps, _“ohh,_ Ja-” he sucks in a breath and then leans back as he blows it upward, lips pursed as James swallows him whole. 

“Feet, chair,” James pulls off for long enough to say, and Steve does with his left leg - lifts it and presses his foot to the chair back, over James’ shoulder, except he’s gonna have to be really careful about it ‘cause his strength outweighs James’ weight, and he doesn’t want to kick him over backwards if he loses focus.

“Fuck,” he says, everything on a breath, it’s like he can’t form words, and pleasure curls up his spine, coils in the pit of his stomach. 

James doesn't go too fast but he doesn't make Steve wait for it either, and Steve doesn't really have much he can do besides keep his hands where they are. James' hair is soft under his palm, the table is hard and cool where he grips the edge, but he can't rock up into the tight, wet heat of James' mouth or he might just fall off the table. 

"Uhn, fuck," he says, hissing through his teeth a moment later as James hollows his cheeks and takes Steve's full length without batting an eyelid. 

Steve can't keep his head still, pleasure so acute that it's making it hard to keep his eyes open, he keeps looking down at James and shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling and tucking his chin to his chest or throwing his head back. 

"Oh- _Ohn_ , James…" he groans, and James rubs his thumb over the soft skin of Steve's inner thigh with one hand, wraps the fingers of his other around back of Steve's calf. 

Steve's hips twitch up but he's got to be mindful of the edge of the table - which is substantial and also directly beneath his balls right now. 

James solves the whole problem a moment later by tucking his hand underneath them to roll them in his palm, and he scoots his chair forward a little to get closer. Steve hears himself whine and then feels James chuckle, and god _damn_ the table is cold but James' mouth is like a brand by comparison.

"Hng," James says, and he pulls off almost the whole way until he's just suckling at the tip and Steve's toes curl, his mouth drops open, his brow furrows-

"James," he says, _"James,_ " and he doesn't know what to do with his other leg, thank God for the table to grab onto with his 'spare' hand. 

God, he needs somewhere to put his foot, he needs-

There's another chair fairly close and he kicks it first before he manages to get his foot on it, toes smarting. It's just in time - James picks that moment to slide his lips down Steve's cock again, swallowing around him once he's most of the way down. Steve just keeps his hand on the back of James' head - even if James weren't in charge, Steve wouldn't be trying to guide his motions like this. 

"Ogh fuck, oh, _fuck,_ " suddenly, he's got his nose in Steve's pubic hair and zero gag reflex. "Shit, ugh, Ja- James-"

When he swallows, Steve tips his head back and stretches out his body in some attempt not to pull himself away from something that's both way too much and dead on perfect, and James starts to move a little faster, setting a pace. Steve lets go of the edge of the table and slaps his palm against it instead, putting all his weight on the one hand as he leans right back, James’ head bobbing under his hand, James’ mouth sliding down his cock and back.

“Oh-h,” he says, shaking his head - he doesn’t know if there’s something he’s supposed to be doing but-

“You can lie down,” James says, and Steve shakes his head, then he nods, eyes screwed shut, mouth fallen open, yeah, yeah, that’s a good-

He collapses back onto one elbow, and then collapses onto his back, hands in James’ hair, and just stares at the ceiling, shaking his head. How is this happening? It wasn’t happening and now it is and it happened so _fast-_

“Oh my God,” he gasps, “oh, _oh_ God, that’s-”

James is good at this, Steve knows that objectively, but his body always feels like it doesn’t understand, like it’s learning for the first time each time. 

“Oh, please,” he hears himself breathe as he squeezes his eyes shut, and James hums a laugh in return - he’s sweating, he’s gonna have to clean the table again but he couldn’t care less and-

That- _That, there,_ that’s-

“Oh fuck,” Steve mutters, shaking his head against it but it’s curling up his nerves and shooting up his veins and it’s all pulling him inward at the center, he’s going to implode, his stomach feels like there’s hot coals in it, there’s so much blood between his legs that it stings. “Oh, _fuck_ -”

“S’okay, I’ll swallow,” James pulls off to say, and it’s-

“Oh, _oh!”_

-stronger than Steve’s expecting for sure - he arches his back with it and then his whole body crunches so hard he’s almost sitting up again, and then he flops back onto the table and kind of flails as he winces, his body very definitely not under his control. 

He makes a sort of strangled noise that comes of trying to hold a bigger noise back, and then he’s just gasping for breath and wincing, he dreads to think what his face must look like but he’s not in control of that either, one eyebrow’s doing what it wants, he’s not sure his mouth has ever made this shape before.

“Ja- _Ah, ahhhh,_ th-” none of the noises he makes form a sentence but he’s too far gone to care.

It makes his thighs shake and his head makes a _klunk_ on the table. James pulls off with a pop and jacks him slowly and Steve doesn’t know if it’s deliberately to make his leg twitch but his leg twitches regardless, and then James is pressing little kisses to the inside of his thigh, to the curve of his lower stomach, to his abs and his hips and anywhere he can reach without having to go too far, hands stroking his thighs, fitting to his waist while James goes for his nipples. Steve’s skin is alight with it, his nerves sing with it, and he arches his back to get his body closer to James’ mouth and his mouth falls open and-

“Oh,” he gasps because James’ fingers are strong and slightly cool when they wrap around his cock, which is hot, and not soft, and very slick right now. “Oh, you- wait-”

“Can you go again?” James asks, from around about Steve’s diaphragm, and Steve has to swallow hard before he can answer-

“Hyeah, but _you-”_

“I’ve got work, we’ll do me tonight,” James says, and then he closes his open mouth over the lower edge of Steve’s left pec and presses his tongue to the nipple, like the way he kisses Steve sometimes, and Steve doesn’t mean to make the noise he makes when James starts, doesn’t even know how he’d go about making it again, but he hears it in his own ears.

James’ shirt feels like sackcloth on his skin, James’ hands feel like brands, and nothing’s ever felt better.

“James,” he says, shakes his head, “James, James,” and James keeps doing what he’s doing all over again. 

***

There’s less to swallow second time around, and Steve’s thrashing about like a fish out of water by then, grabbing at James’ hair, clutching at his shoulders. He’s not sobbing but some of his little noises sound like it, and he makes a really loud kinda noise when James massages his perineum just as he comes.

He isn’t, James notes, pushing James away at all. He’s writhing and groaning and his hands and his head keep thunking the table - at one point he covers his eyes with his forearm, and then his mouth instead. He doesn’t bite his own arm to keep quiet, but does clap his hand over his mouth a moment later, and then slap it down against the table after that, broad chest heaving. James looks up that last time, but all he can see is Steve’s pecs, and how hard his sweet little nipples are.

“You could go again,” he says, but he _is_ getting closer to a point where full-of-breakfast is giving way to a different kind of feeling, one he doesn't have time to indulge on a Monday morning. 

“Yeah,” Steve moans, but he heaves a sigh a moment later. 

The clock on the wall nearest to them says it’s eight-oh-five, which James knows because Steve turns his head to look at it, and so James looks too.

“Aw, man,” James says, and Steve just lies naked on the table for a moment, sweat and skin, chest still heaving. 

“Ugh,” he says, and swipes a hand down his chest. “You still clean?”

James looks down at himself - there’s nothing on him that he can see but it’s not like sex doesn’t have a smell.

“I’m gonna change anyways,” he says, and then he steps back, offers a hand to Steve that Steve definitely does not need.

Steve breathes, sits up and sways a little, putting one hand out. Maybe he _does_ need that hand.

He’s steady a moment later, but James steps up to him anyway, between his legs again, fly pressed to Steve’s swollen cock where it’s red with the friction of two handjob/blowjobs. He stands on his toes so Steve can lean down enough to kiss him, and Steve’s beard scratches his face but he doesn’t mind. He hasn’t shaved either, so Steve’s got beard burn off his stubble, but Steve hasn’t complained about the beard burn that’s turned half his torso red, and he’ll heal from it before long anyway. 

“Go on,” James says when he pulls back, “off you go,” and Steve stares at him for a moment, smile wide and bright, head cocked, looking almost but not quite bemused.

“Who are you and what did you do to James?”

James scoffs and steps right out of his personal space. 

“Go!” he says, and Steve laughs, gets down off the table and slips a little, has to fling out a hand.

“Oops,” he says, and then, “haha,” and off he goes. 

He holds onto the rail the whole way up, too, which says something about the current steadiness of his knees. James follows him up because it’s nice to be in charge but nicer to watch Steve walk upstairs without a stitch on.

“You’re gonna come up and fuck me at lunch though, right?”

James gives him a look.

“If you’re good,” he says, and Steve laughs too but sets about getting dressed - they gotta leave in ten.

***

Steve drops James in the tower’s underground parking lot and gets off the bike too. He means what he said - he’ll be spending most of the day in the tower so James can come up at lunch and, when James alights and hands over his helmet, Steve grabs him by the waistband and pulls him back, hauls him close and kisses him but it’s sweet, there’s a longing in it that makes James’ chest ache just a little.

Yeah, James is going to have a conversation with Steve about that longing, for sure.

“I’ll miss you,” Steve says when they part, and James’ knees are a little weak with it. 

“You know, I keep saying I love you but it’s doesn’t feel like enough,” James tells him. 

“I know,” Steve says, “but I know from experience, so you’re good.”

James huffs an incredulous laugh - how did he get this far? How has he been this lucky? 

“I love you,” he says anyway, and Steve smiles warmly, passes his thumb over James’ lower lip and nods.

“I love you too,” he says, “now go do some amazing work and I’ll see you at lunch.”

James stands on his toes for another brief kiss, and that turns into another longer one, and Steve’s hands are at his hip and cupping his elbow, Steve smells of leather and the lot smells like concrete and James opens his mouth under Steve’s and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t want,” he says between the end of that kiss and the start of the next one, “to go,” but he can feel Steve nodding.

“I don’t want you to,” Steve says eventually, breaking the kiss to press their foreheads together.

It feels bigger today, James thinks. More of a wrench - his breath catches in his chest when he steps away, and Steve’s hand catches his for a moment, fingers brushing his forearm, his palm, his fingers. 

James finds himself six feet from Steve and feeling like he’s about to leave for a different country.

“I don’t want to go,” he says again, and Steve leans on the bike and smiles, and something eases in James’ chest. 

Something uncurls just a little. 

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Steve murmurs. “I’ll be in the same building almost the whole time.”

“You’ll be okay,” James says.

And it’s funny - Steve is who he is. He’s been Captain America, he leads at least one team of the Avengers, he’s the only supersoldier in existence, and he’s twice James’ age, but he doesn’t scoff. He doesn’t laugh, he doesn’t act like it’s the ridiculous prospect James realizes it must be a moment later. 

Instead, his smile dims a little - a vulnerability. An admission.

“I will,” he says, in a manner that suggests it won’t be easy. 

It’s been a difficult couple of days, and Steve’s had a hell of a life to date.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” James tells him, like a comfort, and Steve nods, the corner of his mouth twists in amusement.

“You better,” he says.

James darts forward for one last kiss, pushing himself against Steve as he does, pouring himself into it as much as he can before he pulls back.

He takes a good four or five steps walking backwards so that he can watch Steve leaning there in his leathers, hands in pockets, watching him in return. Steve’s still standing there when James looks back from the elevator.

He touches one hand to his heart as the doors close, his expression soft, his smile warm, and James doesn’t have time to return the gesture. He’ll see Steve at lunch, they’ll be in the same building almost the whole time. 

He’ll be okay.

~

“Hey,” James says as he drops his bag next to his desk chair.

“Hi!” Amy says, grinning, and then she lowers her voice. “Sexy weekend?”

“Huh?” James asks, bewildered, and he sees Connor waving way down the end of the computer row so he straightens his shoulders a little and waves back, smiling. “What?” He says when he’s done, and Amy’s got a sparkle in her eye.

“You didn’t answer your pho-one,” she sing-songs, and James blinks at her.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh.” He looks left and right, checks that he’s close enough to his computer to start logging in. “No, we uh…we had a talk.”

Amy’s smile melts of her face, her brow furrows.

 _”Ai, gē gē,”_ she mutters, but James shakes his head.

“Nono, it’s okay,” he says, “it’s okay now, but Saturday was like. Awful. We started out okay but like he..I made him sad? Or like, he got sad but I didn’t help and then he had a flashback and it kind of ended up being this like… _thing_ -”

“A thing?”

“He yelled at me.”

“He _yelled_ at you!?”

James pulls a face and holds up a hand in apology to Eric a couple of computers down, whose head turned at Amy’s indignation.

“He…” James says. _“Welcome back, Mr Barnes,”_ says Jarvis. “It’s like…it was…he was having like a…panic attack? And I was like ‘sorry a bunch’ and he was like ‘I can’t deal with anything right now’ and then we just.” He sighs through his nose. “Okay, let me get set up and I’ll talk you through it okay? Point is, we’re fine.”

“Sexy fine?” Amy says, and James snorts.

“I’m always sexy fine. I’m sexy _foine.”_

“Out of the two of you?”Amy asks, and James shakes his head.

He pulls up his programming and opens his emails, and then he yawns.

“Okay,” he says, “so here’s what happened.”

***

First and foremost, Steve goes to mass.

Monday morning mass is never well-attended - when he was first reanimated, Steve found himself in church almost every day. He could say his prayers in Latin and pretend nothing had changed, listen to the priest humming plainsong chants or well-worn hymns. These days he sticks to Sundays and special occasions (as well as the infrequent one-offs when he needs guidance, or comfort), but he missed Sunday on purpose and, though Fr Mulcahy will understand, Steve wants to make up for it anyway.

It’s short, too - Sundays have the church full of people who say their prayers in one voice and sing their hymns with the organ. Mondays have echoing benedictions and long, silent stretches, with one or two wavering voices when it comes time to sing. Steve can carry a tune, it’s no hardship, and he knows his prayers in English now, too. At the sign of peace, there are few enough people that Fr Mulcahy descends from the altar flats and shakes the hand of each parishioner in attendance. All seven of them. 

After mass, Steve stays where he is and kneels to pray, runs through his list of people to remember, those to be watched over, those to be looked after - some earthbound, others not. He breathes through the sorrow that lodges itself in the back of his throat, and listens to the shuffle of footsteps on the wooden floor, to the intermittent clink of coins in the coffer for candles to be lit in the lady chapel. He stands from his pew eventually and goes over to them, makes his contribution and lights one - why not? For his mother. 

His mother - that explains a lot. He’s a fool not to have thought of it before now. It’s almost that time of year - her birthday, she was a February child. He’ll ask for her name to be put in the bulletin, he thinks, as he looks at the little tealight flame. He says a decade of the rosary for her with the rosary ring Bruce bought him. His own beads - which were _hers first_ \- sit safely in a box, in a safe, at home. 

When he’s done, he heads to the back to leave, and Fr Mulcahy, out of his vestments and still pottering around the narthex, gives him a smile.

“We missed you yesterday,” he says. “I didn’t see mention of you on the news but…?”

“No, no,” Steve says, his voice soft so as not to carry in the huge empty space, “I’d had a difficult weekend. My mother’s birthday’s coming up, and a whole host of things happened all at once.”

His words come out differently with Fr Mulcahy. They feel older, he doesn’t have to be quite so new. 

“Well I trust the good Lord took care of you?”

“As he has to date,” Steve answers with a nod and a smile, picks up a form from the table by the notices. “Might I ask for my mother to be remembered, the weekend of the seventh?” he asks, holding up the form.

The contribution for that is voluntary but he’ll give it regardless.

“Of course, my boy,” Fr Mulcahy answers, holding out a hand to him and, when Steve gives his in return, Fr Mulcahy clasps it in both his own. “Of course.”

They share a few other quiet pleasantries, the weather, the time of year, the peeling paint in the vestry and the struggling flowers tentatively blooming on the grass verge of the parking lot, and Steve is so grateful for all of it, to Fr Mulcahy and the people Steve’s met from church, and then Steve leaves, exits the church to find his motorcycle. 

He’s barely moving again by the time the itch comes back. 

~

Steve goes to the conversion to load the crockpot stew into tupperware he can take back to the tower, and hastily cleans the dining table while he's there, and then heads straight to the communal gym when he gets to the tower, because he’s still feeling antsy. The advantage of being friends with all his teammates is that he’s always got friends in the tower. That’s _one_ of the advantages anyway, and he finds Nat and Clint and Tony in there when he gets there.

“Well if it isn’t the old stick in the mud himself, how are you darling?” Tony says, and Natasha decks him - that’s the _disadvantage_ of being friends with your teammates. “Ow!?”

“Eyes on the game, Tony,” Natasha admonishes, and Clint, who’s in a sleeveless gray hoodie that’s dark with sweat around the collar and at the underarms, waves at Steve.

Steve waves back, points at his ears, and Clint shakes his head.

 _’Okay,’_ Steve signs. _‘You good?’_

Clint gives him a _so-so_ gesture, and Steve sticks his bottom lip out.

_’What’s wrong?’_

Clint points at Nat and Tony on the mats, and Steve watches Nat deck Tony a second time. When Steve looks back at Clint, Clint signs,

 _‘I’m sad that’s not me,’_ and Steve laughs.

He picks up a water from the cooler and necks it - he drove back here in leathers, it’s not exactly difficult to overheat in those conditions - and heads on over to the weights. He doesn’t _need_ to lift them, not really. It’s more about the motions, the maintenance. He stiffens up if he doesn’t work and the weekend wasn’t exactly full of activity.

“You want the brief?” Clint calls over, and Steve shakes his head, signs a _no, thank you._

He’s not here to brief, it’s not his turn on duty yet. He’s here to work out until his limbs ache, run until his lungs burn, and then cook lunch and hopefully get reamed before James has to go back to work. And he has to resolutely think about something else because otherwise he’s gonna get a hard-on in the middle of the gym.

***

“I mean it sounds like a good thing?” Amy says, but she sounds dubious. “And I get that it was like a panic or whatever but like. He spent the whole night on the floor?”

James rolls a shoulder and winces.

“Yeah, I…probably shouldn’t have told you that. But like it’s _bad._ I mean, it’s PTSD! You know?”

“Mmmh,” Amy nods, thoughtful. “I know. But so now you guys can like…”

“Move forward, yeah,” James says. “I talked- We talked about it. With the therapist dude too, it was like…Like, there’s good ways and bad ways, obviously, but it’s like I didn’t even really know I was doing it?”

“Doing what?” She says. “Far as I can tell you weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Nah,” James says. “Not like _wrong_ wrong but I was like enabling sort of? And like blaming myself-”

“Hey, that’s, don’t beat yourself up for that!”

“No, it’s okay,” James chuckles. “It’s not something I should be sorry for or anything, but like, codependency. It’s good that I stopped doing it. You know?”

Amy’s mouth twists at the corner.

“Yeah,” she says. 

“And then he took me to this neat little place on Sunday, with like three like berth thingies? Like three separate kitchen bits, and all these mismatched seats, and you could-”

“Oh my God, he took you to The Kitchen?!” she says, and James has to hold up a hand for Eric again.

“Man, trust you to already know about The Kitchen,” he says, and Amy scoffs at him.

“It’s like my dream romantic-brunch place, yo,” she answers. “Damn, you two are like goals.”

James tries to bite back the smile, but he can’t help it.

“I know,” he says.

***

James is absolutely going upstairs for lunch. He texts Steve about a half hour before his break, and he’s just thinking about asking if Amy wants to come with when Steve answers with a text that says _come alone_ and James is in zero doubt about what _that_ means.

He begs off - tells Amy Steve’s still a little rocky (for all he knows, it’s true) and then heads upstairs. 

Steve is.

Not there? When James gets there? 

Huh. 

What?

“I hope you’re not hungry,” Steve’s voice says. “You can take a box to your desk right? Tony lets you guys do that?”

“Yeah,” James calls back, untying his tie as he toes off his shoes.

He stuffs his socks into his shoes next, and then throws his jacket at the couch, starts on his waistcoat a moment later as he hot-foots it down the hallway to their bedroom and-

Yeah, okay, it’s a cliché, and so what he’s been dating Steve for months? The sight of Steve in nothing but a towel in the middle of their bedroom is a pretty tough one to beat.

“I’ve got about fifty minutes,” James says, and Steve smiles, broad and beaming. 

“Great,” he says, and grabs James by the shirt as soon as he’s close enough.

The kiss is searing, it makes James’ mind whirl. But Steve’s got it on him today, Steve’s restless and handsy, and James knows from experience a pretty good way to deal with that.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asks, and it makes him blush - it always does, actually, but he gets the thrill of it, too, the thrill of asking.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice higher than it was a moment ago, reedy. “Yeah, please-”

James looks around. They could spend days fucking - go everywhere, the conversion and his apartment and here, fuck on every piece of furniture they have, on every flat surface they can fit on. James could get a couple of days off, they could make a whole thing out of it. Maybe he’ll do it for Valentine’s.

“Better get on your back on the bed then,” James says, and Steve’s eyebrows go right up, his mouth drops open.

“Oh, is that right?”

James can’t help smiling at him, his dork of a boyfriend (okay, no but seriously, Steve Rogers in nothing but a towel - which does nothing to hide how hard he is either), and he tips his head up for another kiss because he wants one. Steve doesn’t actually get on the bed.

“What’s with this, you shy?” James says, one hand against Steve’s chest, the other dropping to the towel, and Steve shakes his head. 

“Nah,” he says, “I’m all yours sweetheart but I don’t want lube on the bed.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “Right there?”

“Right there,” James nods. 

Steve still doesn’t do it. He kisses him again instead, for a while actually, slings his arms over James’ shoulders again, and smiles against his mouth. James puts his hands on Steve’s hips and strokes his back, strokes them down and squeezes his ass.

“Safewords?” he says, and Steve blinks at him.

“Huh?” he says. “Uh. Charlie, Eggs Benedict. What?” James snickers at him. “No but wait, we’re, what? You gonna tie me up?”

“Nah,” James answers, and then he runs his hand down Steve’s chest, over his stomach, turns it so he can rub his palm against Steve’s cock through the towel. “But you’re all mine, sweetheart. Right?”

Steve narrows his eyes in mock suspicion.

“I’m watching you,” he says.

“Watch me from the bed, time’s a-wastin’,” James answers, and Steve scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, looks James up and down.

And then he takes a few steps back, lies down on the bed, opening his towel as he does so that it splays out under his hips, and then he puts his arms over his head so that he’s lying there, on the bed, in their apartment, totally naked, totally exposed.

“I prepped,” he says, and there’s color in his cheeks when he does, “so you can slide right on home.”

James’ throat makes a noise then, and it gets a little harder to breathe, but he’s got a plan. He walks around to the nightstand and rummages, finds a couple of things, and a condom, and the lube, and then he drops them on the bed near Steve’s leg. Steve doesn’t lift his head to look because, probably, he knows it would spoil the surprise. Maybe he just can’t be bothered - he did takes ages to get on the bed and James doesn’t have all afternoon to mess around.

“You get two,” James says as he yanks his vest off, pulls his shirt out of his waistband and undoes two buttons so he can haul the whole thing over his head.

Steve just watches him, follows first the movement of his hands as he opens his fly and then stares at his dick once his pants and his underwear are shoved down. Then James moves forward, gets on the bed. Steve spreads his legs to let him, bends his legs at the knees and plants his feet so James has somewhere to kneel. Steve’s skin is damp, he smells like soap and lube, and there are drops of water in the hair on his legs. 

“Only two?” he says, eyes sparkling.

“Two before I stop,” James clarifies, and Steve’s mouth opens a little, his his head goes back, his lashes come down. “If I come before you do-”

“-Unlikely.”

“-you get a toy,” James tells him. “You might just get it on your dick anyway.”

Steve wets his lips.

“Okay,” he says, and he sounds like he’s trying to hide how enthusiastic he is, at the same time as he _looks_ like he’s trying to hide how enthusiastic he feels.

“And I’m using the clamps,” James says, and picks them up.

“Ahn,” Steve says when he sees them, just ‘cause he’s seen them, and James smiles. 

It’s a powerful thing, kneeling like this while Steve’s all spread out for him. He’s trying the in-charge thing on for size just to see, just to know, and Steve certainly seems to be enjoying it.

“You want I should put ‘em on you?” James says, and Steve wets his lips, nods with small, fast movements. 

“Sure,” he says. “Yeah, Charlie, I want ‘em,” and James smiles.

He’s not going to make light of Steve’s enthusiasm, not when Steve’s being so sweet, not when he’s being so open. He is, James is sure, always aware of himself on some level but, like this, he’s more interested in what James is doing than what he’s doing himself. And James can sympathize even if he doesn’t have the same experiences - he was one thing that was overlooked and belittled, and then he was another that was lauded and worshiped. Being Steve and being The Commander are always going to be two different things, but there’s a hell of a lot of things that James loves about Steve that have little or nothing to do with the serum.

“You got the prettiest mouth I ever seen,” and, there it is, for a second Steve chews his lower lip, folds them both inward before he wets them, and then he stops thinking about it, he ignores the compliment.

“I like yours better,” he says, and that’s fine for now, James doesn’t expect him to listen the first few times. 

He plants one hand on the mattress next to Steve, one clamp held in his other hand so he can look at Steve’ face when he puts it on him. 

Steve doesn’t look at him, watching the clamp instead. It’s almost funny - James puts the clamp on Steve, Steve’s left first, and his whole face creases up as the clamp closes, as though it’s all connected, as though the clamp is pinching everything. Steve’s had to lift his head to watch, and he shakes it slightly as James goes for the second one. 

And, just for a second, James isn’t sure. Just for a second, James thinks about the tough time they’ve had lately, about how quickly things have changed for both of them when something’s gone wrong, but he also knows - he _knows_ \- that any time _Steve_ looks at him, or makes food for him, or has sex with him, Steve just _knows_ what James is feeling.

And it’s not that James _thinks he should_ know how to read Steve’s body language, or _thinks he should_ know how to read his microexpressions. For that brief moment, when he looks at Steve and isn’t sure whether Steve is shaking his head ‘no’ or just overwhelmed, he hesitates.

Before he realizes that he _does_ know.

The little doubt in the back of his mind is not _what is Steve feeling_ but _am I sure that he’s feeling what I think?_ and the answer is yes - he knows that look, he knows that movement of Steve’s head, he knows the tension in Steve’s body.

“Ready for the other one?” he says, because he knows he’s right but there’s no harm in checking in, especially when it doesn’t sound like checking in.

“Mh,” Steve says, already breathing more heavily, “yeah, yeah.”

James smiles, picks up the second one and-

“Mnh,” Steve makes a gorgeous, low sound, deep in his chest, head going back as he opens his mouth, shoulders dropping. 

James knows he likes it, would know even if Steve hadn’t told him before - Steve’s dick, which is up and red, lifts slowly and then sinks back down while Steve rolls his head, and he does this often, this…it’s almost counterintuitive, the way his whole body seems to relax sometimes when James is in the middle of arousing him, like it’s a relief to him to be wound up.

“Okay?” he says, and Steve’s mouth is a little slack, his eyes aren’t quite open.

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Hurt?” James asks, and Steve shakes his head - another thing James expects him to do, another question he already knows the answer to.

Some people are wired like they are and some people aren’t. Some people can’t stand pain, some people like a lot. Him and Steve though? They like just enough to register as _intense_. Or, in Steve’s case, _really intense._

James kneels up, plays with the clamps for a minute, and he watches Steve’s face when he does. Steve’s keeping his hands out of the way as best he can, but his fingers twist and his body moves.

“You’re so sweet,” James says softly when he’s done, fitting his hands to Steve’s torso to drag them down to his hips. “You’re so sweet, look at you.”

Because sweetness is objective and not based in appearance, so Steve can’t deny it. James is pretty pleased about it, actually.

“I believe,” Steve says, “I was specifically promised-”

James laughs, and nods, picks up the condom.

“Okay,” he laughs. “A’right, I’ll get to it, hike your knees up, huh? I wanna look at all of you.”

Steve gives him a breathless sort of,

“Uh,” that’s halfway between a laugh and moan, and then does as he’s asked, damn - picks his legs up and hooks his hands under his knees while James gets the condom out and rolls it down onto his dick. 

Steve’s already prepped, his hole is already wet, but James grabs the lube anyway because you can never have too much. He gets plenty on his fingers first, shows Steve, and Steve just breathes nice and even, watches the movement of James’ hands, which James knows ‘cause he’s looking at Steve’s face.

James tries two first and it’s easy, so he gives Steve a third, and Steve’s head goes back again, his toes flex. So, _so_ sweet. James rubs up inside him for a little bit and smiles when Steve makes soft little noises at him - Steve sometimes holds back when James is doing things like this, but it’s lovely when he doesn’t.

“That nice?” James asks, and Steve nods, pulls his legs up a little further.

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s frowning, not quite annoyed. “Yeah, but you-”

James laughs, shakes his head.

“You got no patience,” he says, and Steve shakes his head too. 

“No!” he says. “Come on, you gotta-”

“Hey,” James says, and withdraws his fingers, puts the heel of his lubed hand and the palm of his other down on the bed either side of Steve and leans over him instead, “hey, hey,” and he makes it soft, he smiles as he says it, he gets right up over him and kisses hims softly. “What’s up today?” 

Steve shakes his head, not quite grinding his teeth. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s not bad or anything I’m just. Buzzy.”

“Buzzy,” James says, still smiling, nodding a little because Steve wants another kiss and he feels like being a tease. “Got a lot of energy under all this skin, huh?” he says, and Steve’s already pretty pink in the places he goes pink when he blushes (i.e., everywhere) but his expression looks like he’d blush more if he could. “I set you off or did you wake up like this?”

“Both,” Steve says. “I woke up buzzy but it got worse this morning, and then worse when you went to work so this is me expressing myself and communicating, I want more now.”

“Okay,” James says, ‘ah-kai’ to imitate Steve in the hopes of making a point, and Steve gives him a, flat sort of _’really?_ ’ expression, so James knows it worked - he can’t help giggling either. “I’ll get there, baby, you know I will, huh? You need it bad, you want it now or you want I should wait?” 

“James, can you please,” he says, his voice quiet, “I just want- You don’t have to do anything special- we don’t have to push but I want, I want you. I want you, sweetheart, please-”

And James shakes his head, before this whole thing goes off in another direction Steve doesn’t need. 

“You don’t gotta beg, honey,” he says, “you don’t gotta beg, ‘s why I’m askin’-”

“I’m gonna go nuts, kid,” Steve says, and James reaches down and lines himself up.

“Okay,” he says. “Breathe, a’right?”

Steve nods, takes a breath, and breathes out slowly right until James starts to push inside of him, at which point he pulls his legs up and cants his hips up and says,

“Ohn, yeah,” lets go of one of his own legs to grab at James’ shoulder, wraps his hand around the back of James’ head a moment later and pulls him down for a kiss, hugging James’ torso with his thighs and his calves. 

It’d be bruising if Steve weren’t so good at controlling his strength, if Steve didn’t know them both as well as he does. As it is, it’s hard enough that James is a little surprised.

“I’m keeping that vibe in you later,” James says, and Steve chuckles, nods, hauls him close and rocks up against him.

“Yeah later,” he says. “Now this.”

~

James takes great pleasure in it, actually. Steve, it seems, is only getting more sensitive as time goes on, and less inclined to stop and so, when he approaches his first orgasm, James pushes up so he’s kneeling again, so Steve’s all laid out like a banquet. 

Steve’s nipples are small and dark except where they’re pale where the clamps dig in, and the muscle is broad and firm but the clamps are small and long, and they pinch at the end which means James can watch the whole length of them bounce with each thrust. And, given that it’s the clamps doing the bouncing, that’s what he’s distracted by. 

He reaches out and takes them off - doesn’t yank them, just pinches them open and takes them away - and Steve says,

 _“Ahhhn,”_ and comes right then and there, spattering his lower stomach. 

James slows down a little while Steve does some little twisty things with his torso, some little jerky things with his head, and then he bends down over Steve and fucks him like that instead for the second one, hands on Steve’s ribcage so that he can get his fingers on one nipple and his mouth on the other. 

Steve whines and whinges and slaps the bed and clutches James’ head close, and James isn’t surprised in the slightest when it barely takes Steve any time at all. There’s hardly anything this time, but the clench of Steve’s muscles around his cock is strong and hot and James isn’t ready to come, not yet, but he could be soon. 

“James,” Steve says, and he’s a bit of a wreck if James is honest, but only because he trusts James to see it, only because this is what he wants.

“God your eyes,” James says, because why not, and Steve looks at him, Steve stares at him.

“Keep going,” Steve tells him, “come on, sweetheart, I’m right here-”

So James does, until soon is very soon, until very soon is now.

***

They don’t go to sleep after, that would be awkward and unhygienic and not conducive to the rest of James’ work day, but they do lie next to each other for a little while, sweaty and out of breath, staring at the ceiling.

“Well,” James says eventually.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes.

“So that’s what, five so far for you today?”

He thinks that’s right - one this morning in bed, two at the breakfast table, two here on the bed.

“Six,” Steve says, and he looks sheepish when James turns his head to look at him.

 _“Six?”_ he repeats, incredulous. “What?”

“I jerked off in the shower after I ate you out,” he says. “My bad.”

“Your ba-” James laughs, then covers his mouth with his hand, then drops his hand and shakes his head incredulously. “Damn,” he mutters. “How many more you got?” 

Steve rolls one shoulder. 

“Dunno,” he says. “Maybe another two?” James snorts. “Doesn’t have to be now, though. I'm feelin' better for now.”

James looks at him.

“Steve,” he says. _“Is_ there something going on today?”

Steve shakes his head, turns his mouth down as he hitches his shoulders up.

“Dunno,” he says again, but he’s smiling. “Just…feel like I want all of you.”

James looks at him a few moments longer, then he lifts his head and looks down at their bodies.

“I ain’t goin’ again,” he says. “But I could fuck you with the aneros?”

“You could,” Steve says, and James pushes himself up so he’s sitting, strips the condom off. 

“How do you want it?” he says, and Steve wets his lips.

“Sure you can’t get it up?” he answers. “I could just kneel up with it in, suck you off.”

“Mmh, hands behind your back to spread yourself open and make it difficult?” James says, and Steve’s brow furrows, he wets his lips. “You drop it, I spank you.”

Steve laughs, just as suddenly as James did. 

“How about I drop it you edge me?” he says. “I’m not into spanking.”

James feels his eyebrows go up.

“You’re not?” he says, and Steve folds his hands on his stomach.

“Not that side,” he says. “I don’t mind doing it, I just don’t want it.”

“Huh,” James says. “Okay. But no on the BJ.”

“Aw,” Steve says, pouting, and James holds out his hands.

“I can’t!” he says. “If you’re still rabid after work, you maniac, we can try then.”

Steve bares his teeth and says, 

“Grr,” but he literally says it ‘cause he’s a dork. 

James looks around, weighing his options. 

“I got time before I go downstairs but not long enough for what you’re after. What else can we do?”

And Steve scrapes his teeth over his lower lip.

“Huh,” he says, looking around, too. “Think I’m hungry!”

James nods, rolls his eyes, and then turns his body when Steve sits up next to him so that they can kiss without too much effort. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Figures.”

Steve laughs, kisses him again, and then heaves himself up off the bed and holds out a hand.

“Come on,” he says. “It can wait. We both should shower before you go back downstairs.”

***

Steve ties his tie for him. He doesn’t dress after the shower, he just wanders around naked and air-dries, and ties James’ tie for him when James is almost dressed.

“You’ve got about five minutes,don’t you?” Steve asks, and James nods, holding the little tupperware box full of food that Steve gave him. 

“Mhm,” he says, and Steve comes all the way over and drapes his arms over James’ shoulders again.

“For the record, I like this a lot,” he says quietly, his eyes half closed, his lips pulled wide in a dreamy smile.

“Afternoon delight?” James asks wryly, and Steve kisses him slow this time, _filthy._

“This whole thing you’re doing with me,” Steve says. “Instead of that whole thing where…I don’t know, seemed like you felt like a guest in somebody else’s place. And I’m happy you’re more comfortable. I’m happy you’re home.”

James nods.

“Yeah, I bet you’re _ecstatic_ about it, actually - seemed like you were having fun.”

“Hmm, boy _was_ I,” Steve grins, and kisses him again.

“No, bad, down, stop it, I have to work,” James says, half-heartedly fighting Steve off.

“When will I see you again?” Steve says, letting him go with a lingering touch to James’ hand which would be less lingering if Steve weren’t actively walking backwards to make it lingering. “Sweet darli-”

“Knock it off,” James says, and then he makes a split second decision. “Also I want to go for coffee after work with Amy. Are you coming?”

Steve blinks at him, which is hilarious given Steve’s naked and it’s the middle of Manhattan in the middle of the day and like twenty miles up from street level or whatever.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah, sure? Wait, I mean…Are you sure?”

“Sure that I’m going for coffee or sure that I want you with me,” James says, “because, yes,” and he closes the distance Steve opened up between them and kisses Steve briefly. “Thanks for lunch,” he says as he turns.

“Thanks for dessert,” Steve answers. “I love you. Hey,” and he catches James’ hand for a moment so that James will look back. “I love you.”

“Yeah, love you too,” James grins, and then he leaves.

He’s feeling better now - lighter, happier and, when he looks back at Steve, Steve’s still naked, leaning on the doorframe as the elevator doors close between them.

“See you for coffee,” James says. And then: “My treat.”

“Hey!” Steve says, pushing off the doorframe, but it’s too late, the doors have closed. 

Except…

The doors open again? Oh right, Jarvis.

“Menace,” Steve says, because he’s standing right by the doors, still naked, and he gets one last kiss out of James before he really, actually lets him go this time. “But I concede,” he says, and then the doors close for real.

~

Amy frowns at his tupperware box as James logs back in, and then she frowns at him.

And then her eyes go wide.

“Your hair’s damp,” she says, and then she looks at her screen, a little shell shocked. “You showered.” She says. “Ew.”

“Ah, you’re just jealous,” James answers, an Amy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t deny it. “Coffee after work with us?”

And Amy looks at him, actually surprised this time.

“Sure!” she says. And then, “oh my God, I know _exactly_ where to go.”

***

Amy hasn’t been to this place too often - it’s a place she likes and one she makes a semi-regular haunt of since she found it. They’ve got a big professional coffee machine but there’s only like the two baristas on the regular, so it’s a proper little hole in the wall place. They walk together but not _together_ , with her and James alongside Steve because James can’t take Steve’s arm in public. Like genuinely, if she thought it were about embarrassment or creepiness or whatever, she’d’ve said so to James ages ago and then tried to convince him to out Steve as a creepy weirdo, but James has told her a few times now that it’s a mutual decision to keep them out of the public eye.

Privately, she’s not convinced. The way Steve moons after James sometimes isn’t exactly conducive to the whole _no, we’re totally not dating, what?_ angle, and even just the twenty minutes they’ve been outside, she’s seen Steve go to touch him at least twice and then look disappointed when he couldn’t. But James takes Amy’s arm instead, and so she puts her head on his shoulder.

“Aw, babe!” she says, and Steve snorts.

“Kids these days,” he says, and she laughs.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at her in return, but then there’s the dude on the street corner with a placard. He’s not spinning it or anything, he’s….uh, actually he’s checking his phone? Okay? But the sign says “Café Q Independent Coffee Haus” in white Papyrus font over an aqua background, and she rolls her eyes. It’s not a coffee house. It’s a coffee storefront, but whatever. Let ‘em have their fun, she’s seen plenty of places that aren’t what they say they are but have been lovely nonetheless, and she likes this one for their atmosphere.

“Yes,” she says to James before he can ask, sidestepping one person’s particularly rambunctious mini schnauzer, as she looks down the street for the café sign, “that is where we’re going.”

“Oh my God, dog,” the lady’s saying, but Amy just waves her off - she sometimes goes to the park just to pet them, dogs get excited, no big, and she wiggles her fingers hello at the dog.

“Dog!” James says.

“Dog,” Amy agrees.

She smiles at the barista dude as they pass, too, but he’s still checking his messages, and they hang a right to go find the place.

James, however, is frowning at Steve, who looks displeased. Amy wonders if he doesn’t like the look of the hipster sign and the definitely hipster barista but he’s dating James so that can’t be it, can it?

“Are you okay?” James says, and Steve’s expression gets a little more displeased, he lifts a hand not-quite all the way to his face.

"I'm," Steve says, slowing.

A couple of disgruntled rush-hour pedestrians walk past and give him a dirty look - one of them, a dude with a white streak in his beard who’s nudged Steve pretty hard, gives him a second glance when he realizes who Steve is, but it’s New York - that’s the only concession Steve gets.

"What?" James says and, for Amy at least, the urge to pull Steve over to the side of the sidewalk and out of foot-traffic is only abated when Steve moves there himself.

Steve shakes his head.

"I'm getting a headache?" he says. "I think?"

James blinks at him for a second or two, evidently surprised.

"I didn't know you got headaches," he says, and Steve passes his hand over his eyes. 

"I don't?" he answers, eyes closed, and he shakes his head again - he doesn’t? Is that the serum? God, that’d be nice, Amy sometimes gets blinding migraines out of nowhere. It’s why she can’t have a specific type of birth control, or too much cheese. "It’s been years,” Steve continues. “Not since the serum, concussions not withstanding.”

Steve’s still pulling a pained sort of expression, but he waves a hand as he lifts his head to look down the sidewalk.

“Maybe that’s why I’ve been off today,” he says, and then he heaves a sigh. “Though that'd be a weird way to be off, huh? Don’t fret about it, come on, I was promised coffee.”

He starts walking again but Amy, and James actually, are a little slow to start, making sure he’s okay before they move. Amy lets go of James’ arm just in case he wants to be closer to Steve, but there still isn’t much he can do for-

“ _Jeez_ ,” he hunches his shoulders ducks his head to one side, “it's making my _ears_ ring."

"Are you okay?" Amy asks, giving James a worried glance, and Steve moves over to one side again, tips his head back, eyebrows raised as he starts blinking rapidly.

"Ow,” he says. “Yeah, it’s fine, I..think it's the sun on the snow? My eyes are way more sensitive than they used to be and everything’s so _bright_." 

He winces, shakes his head _again_ , and he pulls his sunglasses from his pocket, groaning softly as he puts them on.

"Better?" James asks after a moment or two, and Steve nods, still blinking rapidly though his eyebrows are descending back to their usual level.

"Yeah," he says, and then he straightens up a little, looks around, and breathes out a long, slow breath. “Yeah. _Whoo."_

James watches him for another few moments and stands a little closer, can’t put hands on him in the middle of the city, but Amy can understand him trying to comfort with his closeness.

"Weird," James says softly, and Steve nods, smiles half a smile Amy doesn’t think is as convincing as it could be as he rolls one shoulder in a shrug.

"Yeah," he says. “But I’m okay.”

James nods and Amy just raises her eyebrows when they set off again. That’ll have to do for now.

~

Café Quoffie is small and out of the way, and Amy smiles when she looks back at Steve and James. James has been here before but Steve is a Quoffie newbie, and he seems to be sort of mesmerized by the decor. She can't blame him - there's a reason the name starts with the same letters as 'queer,' and the decor backs that up. All wood and exposed brick foundation, the place is full of potted plants, even on the rafters, one wall basically wallpapered in queer events posters, and there are rainbow LEDs under the service counter, rainbow bunting stretching from one side of the ceiling to the other with clusterlights twined between them. There are pride flag birthday cards and pronoun badges next to the pastry cabinet, and the rest of the counter has little fancy allergen-compliant desserts under glass domes. There’s even a rack with the snacks pre-packages in lots of five, three and one, in case of taking-desserts-home.

One wall actually is wallpapered in ridiculous "tropical" wallpaper - but florida-front-yard style, and she sees the moment Steve realizes. The flamingo and the pineapple and the white furniture depicted on the repeating pattern are all clearly plastic once you know to look. 

James refers to it as a 'safe' café - one where he doesn't have to worry about what jewelry he's wearing or what badge is on his lapel. That’s why Amy brought him here that first time, before he even came out to her. She suspected, so she brought him here way back when they first met.

"Nice," Steve says softly, and Amy points to the blackboard.

It's a specialist hipster coffee joint in Manhattan so the options are limited, but it's good coffee and worth the few extra minutes it takes to make.

"Tell me what you want, my treat," she says.

Steve frowns.

"Amy," Steve starts, but James gets really close to him and says,

"Don't make me stomp on your foot."

Amy laughs and Steve raises one sardonic eyebrow, but he takes a look at the board a moment later and narrows his eyes.

"The cinnamon dark hot chocolate looks really good," he says, "if you don’t mind."

Amy puts her hand on her chest.

"Break the bank," she says sarcastically and James sticks his teeth out over his bottom lip.

"Y'all," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"Yours is the white with crème brulé and whip right?"

"Marshmallows because you love me?" James says and Steve snickers.

"Holy moly," he says. "What'd your teeth ever do to you?" 

Amy jerks a thumb towards one of the tables.

"Sit," she says, expression flat, and Steve chuckles as James leads him away.

She gives their order to the presumably-new guy behind the counter, whom she hasn't seen before, and he looks nervous but friendly. He has to ask her twice for Steve's order, but she doesn't mind. She also gets a gluten-free dairy-free brownie each for all three of them, and makes sure her expression is open and easy when the dude isn’t sure which stack of plates he needs for them.

“Okay,” he says eventually, smiling as he hands her a little acrylic triangle with a number ‘2’ on it. “Thanks. Sorry. I-I’ll bring it over.”

She smiles and thanks him, and heads back to the table.

Steve’s saying something quiet to James, fingers of his right hand absently brushing his temple while he speaks, and James is nodding about whatever it is but watching Steve’s fingers. They both stop what they’re doing and smile at her when she sits down with them, and she nods at Steve.

“You still got a headache?” she says, and he makes a so-so gesture with his hand. 

“Think it’s more that I had one before,” he says. “My head feels nervous now, you know?”

She smiles a little.

“Yeah, I was like that after a filling - I ate on the other side for like a week.”

Steve holds out a hand like _exactly_ , and then he unbuttons his nice coat and opens the knot of his nice scarf. 

“How long’s this been here?” he says, and Amy shrugs. 

“I been coming a couple of years but only like once or twice, you know? It’s not on my commute or anything but I saw one of my friends ‘gram it.”

Steve nods like he understands, even though she was ready to explain it. Not ‘cause he’s Steve Rogers but because like he’s forty-two. 

“Nice,” he says again, nodding.

But the thing is, when Amy takes somebody somewhere, she does it to impress them. Or at least make an impression _on_ them. So, even though the conversation’s lovely, when it’s been fifteen minutes, and six other people have come in and ordered and taken seats, and they are _still_ without their drinks and brownies, she’s a little miffed.

Fifteen minutes for some hot chocolates and a cappuccino?

“Man, are they _baking_ the brownies?” she says, and Steve visibly perks up, adorably.

“Brownies?”

“Maybe he’s just really busy?” James suggests, but he also looks mildly irritated, and Amy nods.

“Oh, he’s definitely busy,” she says. “And new.”

Steve cocks his head.

“Hm,” he says thoughtfully.

Amy lets it go - it’s not the new guy’s fault the place is busy.

And it’s not that long after they notice that he comes over.

“I’m really sorry,” he says, “we’re like slammed, sorry - here’s your order, who was the cappuccino?”

“I’m the cap,” Amy says, and she sees Steve and James suppress their smiles as she registers what she’s said. Still, the dude looks like he’s gonna give himself an aneurysm so she shakes her head, holds out a hand to slow him down, and says, “it’s okay,” with as much friendliness as she can. “We’re not in a rush, you’re good. We only came in ‘cause I told ‘em how good the stuff is here.”

The guy beams.

“Oh,” he says on a breath. “Cool.” And he nods. “Yeah, cool, thanks! Well, enjoy!”

“We will,” Steve says, and if the dude recognizes Steve, he doesn’t show it at all as he bustles off with the now-empty tray and goes back to the counter. 

“He’s cute,” Amy says, and Steve gives the dude an appraising glance.

James pretends to kick him under the table, and Steve feigns a jump and laughs, but he shakes his head a moment later.

“I’ve seen better,” he answers, and James takes a few moments to blush scarlet. 

They all sit in silence for little bit, digging into their well-earned (it was like a twenty minute walk okay) purchases, and then Steve makes a little noise.

“Oh, my Gosh,” he mutters around a mouthful of brownie.

“Are you literally not swearing because Amy’s a girl?” James says, and Steve narrows his eyes in mock indignation.

“I am literally not swearing because we’re in public and I’ve only met Amy twice,” he says, and then he looks at Amy. “Hard habit to break though - first time I said ‘fuck’ in front of Peggy I thought I was gonna pop a blood vessel.”

She cocks her head. As long as it’s not a girl thing now, that’s fine. Like, she can deal with it but if he doesn’t like to do it in front of people he doesn’t know then she’s not gonna push. There’s plenty she doesn’t do around people she doesn’t know.

“You can say ‘fuck’ if you want to.”

“Fuck,” Steve says.

She shakes her head with a smile.

“Good?” she asks instead, nodding at his brownie, and Steve looks at her, wide-eyed.

“That is _so good,_ ” he says. “That is _so_ good, wow.”

He takes another bite and then makes a pleased little noise about it and looks at the brownie in his hand. 

“Allergen compliant,” she says. “No wheat, no dairy.”

Steve gives her an ‘oh really?’ kind of look and then examines the brownie some more.

“Damn,” he says. “Oh, wait, I mean drat, wouldn’t wanna hurt your delicate sens- Ow, stop _kicking_ me!”

“Uh” Amy says, lungs quivering, "that was me," because she did it without thinking because she does it to James - that’s where he gets it from - and Steve looks at her in shock for a second before he says,

“Ha _ha!”_ in a thoroughly crowlike way. 

~

They chatter for a little bit about the brownies, about the weather, about how snow’s nice but like maybe could they have less of it? And then Steve sits back in his chair. He’s been eating his brownie like he has to make it last all night (a better plan than Amy’s - she’s eaten hers already, James has too), but he settles into his chair with a happy little sigh.

“So,” and then Steve looks at Amy. “What’s new with you?”

Amy looks at James.

“Uh,” she says. “I mean like… how?” 

Steve shrugs, shakes his head.

“What’s going on, you know? I want all our friends to be _our_ friends so, y’know. Gimme the four-one-one or whatever.”

“The nineties called,” James answers, and Steve leans forward.

“And the forties are telling ya to cool it, pal - I get that you can’t tell me about work but I only know a little about you. What do you do for fun?”

Amy smiles and looks down at her hands.

“You mean besides finding little cafés?”

Steve just smiles disarmingly. 

“I mean, you can tell me about that if you want?” he says, and she thinks about it.

She actually could, it’s not a long story.

“I, uh,” she says, and she wonders about how much she should say. 

Her mom used to say stuff like ‘there’s some stuff you don’t say on the first date’ when what she meant was ‘people don’t want to hear about depressing stuff,’ and Amy knows that’s true a lot of the time.

“So…I…can’t always get out of bed?” she says, and Steve’s whole person changes.

She doesn’t really know what he does but the lightness is gone from his expression, the playful cant to his shoulders seems straighter. He doesn’t say anything, but she can tell that he’s listening.

“Like, you know,” she says, because she doesn’t say this much and she doesn’t like to talk about it, but she also - weirdly - wants Steve to know. “My childhood wasn’t great- Not my family,” she hastens to add, because people always think that. “But, y’know. Just…some shit, so it’s hard to get outta bed sometimes, so I started like…going to places. Like at first it was just that I had to get out of bed, but then I knew I had to get outside instead of being like a total hermit. So sometimes I did and sometimes I didn’t and then one time I did and I saw this café. I used to only go out at night. I thought I was safer.”

Steve’s eyes widen but he doesn’t correct her.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she says, “I know it’s a miracle I’m still alive, but I used to feel like people couldn’t see me as much in the dark, you know?”

Steve nods slowly.

“I used to run at night,” he says. “When you feel like you’re the only person in the world.”

“Exactly,” she says, because that’s true, that’s what it feels like, even though it’s a really, really dumb thing to do. “But then one time I was out, I see this café. And it’s closed, because it’s closed, but their menu’s on the window and I was like ‘what the heck is a caramel macchiato?’ And so I had to go back when they were open to get one, and then I thought ‘where else I could go’ and I found all these neat little places. And once I found one, I found more.”

“You’d walk?” Steve asks, and she shrugs.

“Didn’t matter. Walk, train, bus, long as I was out. So now, if I can’t get out of bed, I think about what I really want for comfort. Like do I want nachos or hot chocolate or whatever. And then that’s where I go. Can’t get it without getting up, so I have to get up. You know?”

He tilts his head a little.

“Yeah,” he says, and his smile is soft, sympathetic.

“Anyway,” she says, because, even though she wants Steve to know, she doesn’t like to talk about it.

And she knows that James knows all this stuff, that Steve’s polite. She knows neither of them will imply she’s had it easy or that other peoples’ traumas are worse. It’s still a relief when they don’t,though. 

“So what’s your favorite drink then?” Steve asks instead, a safe segue. 

“Right now? A cortado from Boom Pow.”

“Oh?” Steve says. “A cortado, what’s that?”

“Like a li’l egg cup of equal parts milk and espresso.”

Steve looks surprised by this.

“Right?” he says, curious, and she smiles.

“I usually get one if I’m getting a caffeine headache,” she says. “Big chains can’t do ‘em nice ‘cause the coffee’s ordered in bulk and kept for weeks and shoved through a machine and mixed with day old milk - you want a little place, like this. Good coffee. Coffee you get for flavor instead of coffee you buy to put things in oh my _God_ I just heard myself.”

Steve laughs - his face screws up and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He covers his mouth with his hand a moment later as he leans back in his chair.

“Hang on,” he says, and laughs some more.

He laughs with his whole body - she remembers James saying as much to her like months ago - and she thinks of the first time she saw him smile in a news interview, because there's a “my face before/after” meme about how he didn't. If James hasn't shown Steve the meme, she's not planning to either. Mind you, if James had, she gets the feeling she’d’ve seen it framed somewhere. 

“So when are you taking us to Boom Pow?” he says eventually, and she pretends to be scandalized.

“I only take my friends to Boom Pow,” she says. 

And then _Steve_ looks scandalized.

“Wow,” he says. “Guess I’ll just have to hear more about you.”

“Mi amigos es sue amigos?” James says, but it starts out like a statement and ends like a question, and Amy gives him a flat look.

“Why don’t you master English first, genius,” she says, but Steve shakes his head.

“We’on’t need English, we speak Brooklyn,” Steve says, and Amy laughs too.

~

After a half hour or so, when they’ve decided to leave, Amy’s a little less terrified of the Actual Steve Rogers. Not that she was scared but like it’s nice she can get on with her best friend’s dude, it’s always a worry.

“Anyway, I’m getting more brownies,” Steve says, and he stands up. “My treat this time.”

“You’re an asshole,” James says, and Steve looks down at him, surprised.

“What?” he says. 

“You enormous dork,” James says. “What’d I say to you after lunch?”

And Steve stares at him some more. 

_“After_ lu-? Oh! Right. _Your_ treat?”

“Yeah,” James nods, and he stands up too. “So sit down or else it’s her treat and your treat and the only one whose treat it ain’t has two thumbs and a killer fashion sense.”

“A what?” Amy laughs, but Steve sits down again as James narrows his eyes at her.

“Do you want a second brownie or not?” he says, and then puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Am I getting three or five?”

“Hold on, I’m gonna text Sam,” Steve says. “See if he wants us to bring him one.”

“You’re willing to share?” Amy says, and Steve raises an eyebrow.

“You, him,” he prods James in the side, “Wanda, Nat and Sam. Everybody else can get their own brownies.”

He spends a couple of seconds texting, and then sends the message, but he’s just putting his phone back in his pocket when it rings. He frowns at it, and then he shows her.

 _“SAM,”_ it says, and he shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “I gotta take it just in case.”

She nods.

“No worries,” and he swipes to answer.

~

 _“Brownies?”_ Sam asks, and Steve chuckles.

“Really _good_ brownies,” he says. 

_“I just can’t believe that after all this time you’re still askin’ if I want a brownie ‘stead’a showin’ up with one,”_ Sam answers.

“So you thought you’d call me to berate me?” Steve says. “How’s that gonna get you what you want?”

 _“Ah, you love me, you’ll do it anyway,”_ Sam says. _“You anywhere near Koreatown?"_

Steve feels his smile fade, the hair rises on the back of his neck. 

"Yeah," he says. "How'd you know?"

He thought they were done with this, is Sam asking him to warn him about a tracker?

_"Nah, relax, man, I'm asking for information - you still-close and not-busy? We caught an ultrasound disturbance, some guys using sound for auto theft. Thought you could use a distraction but if you’re busy cheatin’ on me with some new friends…?"_

Sam’s kidding but, actually…

"Uh," Steve says, looking at James and then Amy. “I got James and Amy with me?”

 _"Oh! Oh, no, don’t worry about it, man, it ain’t nothin’,"_ Sam says. _"Plus,"_ and then he affects his fake-official voice, _"you know. You are technically in charge, Commander, so…"_

Steve chuckles.

"Message received," he says with the Commander voice, and then winks at James - who pretends to be long suffering but still goes a little pink.

Amy pulls a face at James, clearly noticing, and James goes even pinker and covers his face with his hands.

"Paging Dr Pavlov," Amy mutters.

"Shut up!" James mutters back.

"If you need me, we were gonna head back to the tower for dinner but I can stop by," Steve says, normal voice again, "when'd you say this was?"

_"Y’all can throttle back, we picked it up about a half hour ago but were looking out for it - its not the first time. They’re not jackin’ the vehicles, they’re just breaking the windows and shit. It ain’t even a Captain America problem, let alone something you gotta worry about. I was really just callin' to ask if you wanted Korean after."_

And Steve frowns.

"No, I’m alright, but thanks. But…A half hour, huh?" he says. "I think I felt it."

There is a pause.

_"You felt it?"_

"Yeah," Steve nods. "We're in NoMad; I got a surprise headache about a half hour ago, thought it was the sun off the snow. That explains why my ears were ringing."

James and Amy are both looking at him now, mildly concerned, and Steve shakes his head and waves a hand.

_"Damn. You okay now?”_

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Steve says, nodding even though Sam can’t see him. “I’m fine - had it for about two minutes, it’s fine now.”

 _“Stark's gonna be pissed you're a better detector than the one he made,"_ Sam says, and Steve chuffs a laugh. _"Nah, man, I’ll eat your share of the Korean. You finish your little dinner date."_

“Oh, Roger that, Falcon,” Steve says, like _you’re damn right I will!_ and Sam laughs as he says he’ll talk to Steve later, and ends the call.

Steve puts his phone back in his pocket, and looks at James and Amy.

“Ultrasound disturbance,” he says, waggling his fingertips at his eyes. “Over in Koreatown, I must have felt it.”

“That’s why that dog was going nuts,” Amy says, and James looks at her, mouth falling open.

“Oh wow,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Steve says. “It’s over and they’ll keep me updated anyway, so why don’t you get those brownies and we’ll head on back.”

“You’re impatient,” James says, and Steve shrugs. 

“I’m hungry.”

James’ eyes go wide then.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he says, suppressing a smile and then, to Amy, “he gets really cranky when he’s hungr-” 

Steve jabs him in the side again and James cackles as he heads for the counter.

~

When he gets there, he finds that the two guys behind it are moving back and forth and that there’s nobody on the register.

“Hi,” says the guy who was on the street with the sign anyway, from a couple of feet away, and James says,

“Hey,” with a smile as he picks up a little brown bag of five brownies. “These brownies were great, you got a limit on card?”

“What?” the guy answers, because apparently he wasn’t looking at James, and then he _frowns_ at James and…oh. Okay? Was…he not ready to take James’ order?

“Uh,” James says, glancing aside to make sure there’s nobody in line behind him. “Sorry, you got a limit on card? I-”

The guy picks up a little piece of cardboard that was face-down, which says _Cash or Venmo_ below a little piece of linty tape, which is presumably why it wasn’t attached to the side of the register. James feels himself blush even though the sign wasn’t facing him.

“Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

Which…okay. James didn’t know that, that’s weird, but he did have cash the last time he and Amy were here, and Amy paid the first time she brought him. He fishes around in his pocket - the brownies are like three twenty-five each plus tax, which isn’t bad for brownies that good. 

James has a twenty but nothing smaller for change, but the guy’s back again.

“Can I just check,” James says, setting the money on the counter between them, “I don’t have anything smaller, are you gonna be okay to change a twen-”

“Yeah,” the guy tells him, “but you maybe wanna wait a second? We’re really busy, okay?”

And James just stares at the side of his head for a moment or two, surprised. Okay so…like…James did just butt in kind of but like…what? Maybe they wouldn’t be so busy if the guy’d been here the whole time instead of texting in the street with a badly designed sign for a café that already had a sign outside it, and maybe he should be more polite to a customer who waited a full fifteen minutes for a six dollar hot chocolate that was mediocre at best, and maybe he shouldn’t greet a customer at the register if he’s not going to engage with him, and maybe his stupid sign ought to be on his stupid register.

“Okay?” James says instead of any of that, and some how his voice comes out smaller than he wants. 

“Yeah, sure, okay, here,” the guy says, lips pursed, and he gets a little plastic baggie of cash out from the register drawer after he stabs the register with his keys and slams the heel of his hand down on a button. “What is it, twenty?”

And then he swipes the twenty off the counter and slams down three singles and a dime one after the other.

“One, two, three, and ten cents, okay?” he says, and then he slams the register closed again and goes back to the back wall, and James just stares at him.

James isn’t someone who’s like…easy to intimidate. It’s not difficult either, he doesn’t like confrontation, but like…

Wow, he…

That. Was really fucking rude.

He takes his cash slowly, still trying to process, and he looks at the other dude to see if he’s gonna get the same treatment from him, but the other dude, the new guy, isn’t looking at James. He’s staring at the Sign Guy with the same sort of incredulity that James feels must be on his own face. _Then_ he looks at James.

“Sorry,” he says, very quietly. “Was your drink okay?”

And James straightens up a little, musters up a smile.

“It was great,” he says, because he’s been where this dude is, “thanks. You share a tip jar?”

Newbie gives him a nod, and James gives him the three dollars back, puts them in his palm.

“Then don’t let him see,” he says, and then he carries the brownies back to the table.

Steve, James notes, sees _immediately_ that something’s wrong. The smile drops off his face so fast James is almost surprised by it, except he’s got this weird numbness where the surprise would be.

“James,” he says, and James holds up a hand.

“I’m leaving,” he says, and Steve’s eyebrows go up, so do Amy’s.

“James,” she says, too, but they both stand up and start putting on coats and gloves and whatnot. 

James doesn’t turn around to look back but he’s aware Steve’s glaring over at the counter.

“It wasn’t the guy who served us,” he says, and his voice sounds flat to his own ears. “It was the other dude. I don’t want to make a fuss.”

Steve’s chair scrapes back, Steve’s fists are clenched, but James reaches out fast and wraps his fingers around Steve’s wrist, looking up at Steve when Steve’s head snaps down to look at him.

“Ah-huh, and you know what’s paved with good intentions?” he says, because he trusts that Steve will understand, and Steve does, James sees him.

He sees Steve remember when he said it that afternoon he was doing everything for James, see Steve rein himself in as he realizes the context.

“Shame,” he answers. “This was a nice place.”

And they gather their things and leave. James can tell how mad Steve is because he doesn’t even try to leave a tip.

~

It’s near-enough dark outside when they get back onto the sidewalk, and Steve pops his coat collar.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” he says, and James wrinkles his nose.

“Barista dude was an asshole to me,” he says. “I didn’t see their ‘cash only’ sign or whatever, because he didn’t have it displayed, and then he was like ‘I’m too busy’ even though I was literally just standing there, and then he was like ‘here’s your change’ or whatever. Or…It was more than that but… he was just rude, that’s all.”

When he finishes his little retelling, Steve is very tall and very broad and looks somehow like he’s been carved out of stone.

“Look,” James says, because…well, okay, the dude was rude but also James hasn’t been here often and also it’s like rush hour and stuff. “He’s just busy-”

“Perhaps he’d be less busy if he spent more time training his staff than messing around on the street with a badly-designed sign during one of the busiest times of the day,” and James chews his lower lip for a second, biting back a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing.

“That’s what _I_ thought,” James says. “Look, forget about it. He was an asshole, I won’t give him any more custom.”

And then he looks at Amy. Amy looks annoyed, and disappointed.

“Yeah,” she says. “Shame. This was a nice place.”

James doesn’t want it to ruin their evening.

“Listen,” he says, “we can come back when it’s quiet, see what it’s like then. You never know - maybe he got really bad news this afternoon but he had to come work anyway. You know? You never know.”

“This,” Steve says, “is why I’d like to be able to kiss you in public. You’re a better man than me, I’d’a socked him.”

“No you wouldn't. Besides. Could I ever trust you out of my sight?” James says in answer, parroting something else Steve told him, and Steve clenches his jaw for a moment but nods a second or two later.

“Alright,” he says. “You got me.” And he softens then, brings himself closer to James in that way he has where somehow he’s just closer to James’ height. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…” he says, because it’s just a café. But it was a café with rainbow bunting and a million queer posters and bisexual birthday cards that said ‘HAPPY BiRTHDAY’ on them. “Thought I didn’t have to worry there.”

Steve glances left and right and then says,

“You got something here,” and points to James’ temple. 

Then he leans forward as though he’s looking for lint, and presses his lips there instead.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “We’ll find somewhere better.”

And James nods, rubs his hands together in the cold.

“Yeah,” he says. “Come on, though, it’s freezing.”

Steve stamps his feet a little.

“Yeah. You comin’ back for food?” he says to Amy. “Save you gettin’ transport home a little bit and we’ll get you a car after?”

~

Amy looks at James, a reasonable barometer for whether she should invade their space or not. Like, she’s not an idiot - James might want dinner-with-his-boyfriend to be a repeat of lunch-with-his-boyfriend, especially after whatever’s just happened at the register, and she doesn’t wanna be a third wheel. 

“Hey, yeah!” James says though. “You could do gnocchi, like that one we had at The Kitchen.”

And Amy can totally resist the urge to howl like a wolf at the moon, okay, she totally can, but does James mean the crispy avocado egg gnocchi?

Steve laughs.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll do it - Amy, you in?”

“Oh my God,” she says. “They can get in my mouth.”

Steve laughs again but loudly this time, startled into it instead of amused.

“Yeah, okay?” he says. “Alright, let’s head back.”

And they set off back towards the tower. It feels weird, she decides, like it did on Halloween, to be heading back to the tower when most of New York is heading home (or, okay, most of the business parts of it anyway) and it looms up out of the not-really-dark like a giant light cone. It’s an okay building architecturally, and she’s making a hell of a living off it, but it’s weird.

Weirder still is getting into the Avengers elevator. She’s only been in it once before - with James when she met Steve - but she thinks about the inside of it every time she sees the doors now, and it’s barely different from the other elevators, except that it’s off to one side and the buttons are different. It’s weird to be in such a small space with Steve Rogers, too.

“I feel like I’m going to the principal’s office,” she says, and Steve laughs.

It takes barely any time to get up to the right floor - so much so that she’s surprised they’re actually there. 

“Oh wow,” she says. “I forget how fast this is, I was expecting like one of the restaurant floors.”

Steve smiles as he lets them out of the elevator car first, and he opens his front door without any preamble. 

“Take your shoes off if you want, grab something from the kitchen if you feel like it. Ask Jarvis to put something on TV, make yourself at home, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, and then looks at James as Steve walks away to go to the bedroom. “Oh yeah, sure, I’ll just come on in and set up camp in literally Steve Rogers’ apartment.”

“He’s got superhearing,” James answers.

“No, I don’t,” Steve says from halfway down the hall, and James goes gets his shoes off and drops himself onto the couch. 

“Anyway,” James continues, “it’s our place now.”

She looks at him with her teeth out over her bottom lip.

“Omg,” she says, like omgh, because that’s funnier, and she looks around the place. 

“Anything you wanna see?” he says, and she shakes her head.

“Nope,” she says. “I mean, if you wanted to put on the TV…”

James has told her it _projects_ , but she hasn’t seen that yet. Obviously like it’s not like she can’t imagine it or live without it but it’s totally cool and she wants to see it. 

James laughs, bumps her shoulder with his shoulder. 

“Sure,” he says. “Jarvis, please would you put on the TV?”

 _“Certainly, sir,”_ Jarvis answers and that is _so cool._

And then this projection springs to life in the middle of the room and that’s _even cooler._

~

Steve’s back in a few minutes, in his slippers, now wearing a cardigan over his button-down, and James gets up when he comes in.

He’s still sore from Café Q and he hasn’t fully warmed up from the outside yet, so he doesn’t think a hug is outside the realms of what he should be wanting right now.

“Hey,” he says and Steve, at the kitchen counter, turns around and smiles at him warmly.

“Hey,” he says back, quietly, and James takes a step forward so Steve understands what he wants, and then puts his head against Steve’s chest as Steve folds him up and holds him close. “How you feelin’?” Steve asks, and James shuts his eyes, tries not to be too upset.

“Places like that,” he says, “where you walk in and the whole joint’s shouting how queer it is, it’s nice. It’s so nice. I don’t have to worry about who I kiss in that café, I can wear what I want, I can look at their posters and ask people their pronouns and everybody in the café doesn’t care. Everybody in there looks at me like I’m one of them, and he was so _rude._ Like…” and here he lifts his head, leans back to look at Steve without breaking their embrace, “I’ve been a lot of places and I worked through college and had shitty customers, and I had friends and whatever but like…Nobody’s spoken to me like that for a long time.”

Steve nods, lets go of James with one hand so that he can brush James’ hair back off his forehead. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m sorry, I know what it’s like to lose a place you thought was safe.”

Steve kisses him softly after a moment or two, and smiles down at him when they part.

“Least I got you,” James says.

“Oh, at _least,_ ” Steve answers, and then they break apart. “Not now though, I gotta find the spu-uds,” he sings, and James laughs, turns around to look at Amy.

Amy looks like she’s trying to eat her lips.

“Shush,” James tells her, and Amy makes a kissy face before she lets it go.

“So how long you and James been besties?” Steve says over at the counter, a thumpy rumbling noise belying his locating of the potatoes. 

Amy laughs and James takes a seat at the table. If he warms it up now, he won’t have to warm it up when they eat.

“Since we got hired,” she says, and Steve chuckles. 

“Mutual terror,” he says. “Got it - I met a few friends like that. Not surprised you didn’t have any friends before that.”

James isn’t sure but he suspects Steve means the members of the Howling Commandos with the former half of that sentence and, though the latter’s meant to be a joke, it moves something in him. 

“I had a different friend group before,” James says, and Amy tuts - not at him but about him. 

“That what you’re callin’ ‘em,” she says, and James shakes his head even as he sees Steve turn around out of the corner of his eye.

“Beg pardon?” he says, and James flops his head over in that direction.

“Had friends,” he says. “Things change.”

Steve narrows his eyes for a moment, and then looks over at Amy for a moment before looking at James again. 

“Alright, Mr Mystery, I’ll let it go for now. I’m all ears when you feel like talkin’ though, don’t forget it. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s not going to do that whole thing today. He’s already feeling down about the café, he’s not planning on making himself feel worse. 

“Come on,” Steve says. “You can help me with this,” and Amy springs up off the couch.

“What can I do?” she says, and James shakes his head.

“You can do whatever he wants _me_ to do, I’m staying here.”

Steve looks at him, concerned, but James grabs the edges of his seat with both hands. 

“I only just got my butt warm.”

And he can _see_ Steve suppress an innuendo or something. Which is terrible because it means James immediately thinks of all the ways Steve could warm his ass for him- spanking first and foremost - but at least Amy doesn’t have to hear it. 

Once Steve’s turned back to the counter, Amy passes James to go towards him and waggles her eyebrows at him, well aware of it anyway.

James just smiles and puts his hand over his eyes.

***

It’s too late to head all the way back to the conversion once they’re done, although Amy declines the offer to stay over. James suspects it’s more out of courtesy than a desire to go home but some day he’ll convince her. They call a car for her after their nice, quiet evening meal, and Amy was very impressed by Steve’s cooking, which is all James really wanted from the evening anyway.

Not bad for a Monday night, and he resolves to do this kind of thing more often now that they know for sure Steve and Amy get along.

“See you tomorrow,” Amy smiles, and he and Steve see her onto the elevator. 

They send her away with a brownie and they share another one between them so that Nat and Sam and Wanda can all have one.

Steve texts all three of them to tell them, and only two of them answer - Wanda, who says she’ll stop by for hers tomorrow, and Sam, who says he’ll get his in the morning but that Nat’s been called away on a mission. 

“Such a shame,” Steve says sadly, shaking his head as he cuts another brownie in two. “Well! Waste not want not.”

After that, they clear up from dinner and, James finds, he’s almost ready to go to bed. It’s not even ten but he’s exhausted. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, “it’s a good idea, come on.”

But it’s as he’s brushing his teeth, when Steve calls through to the en suite about how much he enjoyed the evening, that James thinks about the walk and the café and the weekend they’ve had, how difficult it’s been, how easy it is now. He thinks about Steve making them all food, moving around their kitchen, getting on with Amy. He considers how big a part of his life Steve really is now. And so he puts his toothbrush back in its place and comes out of the bathroom in his underwear, to find Steve naked and just finishing up making the bed.

“Hi,” Steve says. 

"Okay so," James says, and Steve looks at him, presumably surprised by an answer that wasn’t a return greeting. 

James feels fidgety.

"You okay?" Steve says, and James chews his lip for a moment.

"I'm fine," he says. "I just don't want you to get excited."

Steve's eyebrows go up, and he turns to face James properly.

"Oh?" he says, and he looks James up and down with a _lot_ of heat in his gaze. "You _don't_ want me to get excited?"

James snorts, covers his face with one hand as he shakes his head. 

"About what I'm asking, not about the sex that we're pretending we’re not having as soon as we've had this serious conversation."

Steve's eyes get just a little wider, which he's doing on purpose for comic effect, but he walks to the end of the bed and sits down, hands folded in his lap.

"For totally-not-definitely-sex, I am right here," he says. "What's buggin' you?"

And James sighs, chews his lip a little more.

"Okay so I want to know something in advance," he says, "so that I can make an informed decision later. Probably much later. Okay? Like, I want to run through something so that if I decide I want to, I know how to."

Steve nods.

"That's fine," he says. "What are we talkin' here, skydiving? Bungee jumping? Wait, storm chasing?"

"Okay so I definitely want to chase a storm someday," James says, "but no. And I, Steve, I _need_ you to not get excited."

"You're pregnant?"

"So if I," James says, ignoring that one. "If…I ever… _did_ want to…uh." Don't ask James how he knows but he knows Steve thinks he's talking about marriage. "Not a wedding, not married, if I, but," Steve relaxes a little. "If I ever did want to go public," he says, and Steve goes very, _very_ still, "Ho- How would. We do that, what would we do?"

Steve stares at him for a long few moments, and then he cocks his head and takes a deep breath in through his nose as he narrows his eyes. 

"Okay so, first," he says, "we would decide to do it and figure out roughly when. Would it be a week, a month, a year from whenever. Because," and here he holds up a hand, sits forward and puts the other elbow on his thigh so he can gesture with his free hand, still listening from the end of the bed but now he looks way sexier and way seriouser. More serious. Jesus - head in the game, James. "There are people we'd need to talk to."

James looks at him.

"About coming out?"

"Yeah," he says. "I mean, _our_ people. We've got people who handle thi- Like, you remember when Pepper and Tony got married?"

James nods, because he does - it was in all the papers and then on the websites and then the magazines followed, because Becca was waiting to collect the magazines. 

“Yeah, you guys have PR,” he says. “Right.”

“So we’d talk first to them. We’d discuss a timeframe. And then we’d talk to your family - how involved they’d want to be, whether they’d want security, surveillance, I’d offer to make them part of Tony’s emergency systems, you know, all that.”

James…okay, James had thought of that but…still. Security, wow.

“Okay,” he says. 

“We’d decide what kind of entrance we want,” Steve continues. “Do we want the paparazzi to break it without your name, give the public a couple days to get used to it before somebody you work with or somebody you went to high school with says ‘hey I know that guy.’ ”

“It’d be Jakey Letterman,” James says. “Jakey Letterman fucking hated me.”

Steve nods, pulls a face like, _well exactly_.

“If you know where Jakey lives, you just let me know,” Steve says, and James huffs a laugh (oh, James knows. James had to pass it every day for years - advantage of taking the fucking school bus. James once thought he saw Jakey at college, and nearly threw up then and there) and Steve continues. “We’d look at, do we want to do an interview with a magazine, a press conference, do we want to confirm it in a public forum, y’know. We’d figure out what kind of entrance. Then we figure out how much information we provide. Your name, your age, where you’re from, what you do. And before we’d do any of that, you and I would have to have a serious talk about how your life is gonna be once everybody knows your name.”

“You sound like the opening of Cheers,” James says, and Steve’s eyes narrow a little. 

“The bar show?”

James bites his lips.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Smartass, I missed that whole decade, cut me some slack.”

James snickers. 

“Sorry,” he says, and Steve reaches out, takes James’ hand in his own.

“We’d talk to our people and arrange it,” he says, tugging James closer, keeping his voice low, “if you want to do it.”

James nods slowly, wets his lips, and searches Steve’s face. He takes a deep breath and makes a decision.

“When I want to do it,” he says.

And Steve’s face barely changes. There’s no sudden brightening, no raised eyebrows, no beaming grin. His expression softens somehow, that’s the only way to explain it. His smile is warmer, his cheeks are rounder, his eyes stare less and look more. James can see the love in him, and the complete lack of expectation behind it too.

“I love you,” Steve says. “And if and when you’re ready, we’ll make a move. Okay?”

James nods. 

“Okay,” he says.

“Great,” Steve says. “Glad that’s settled. Now, about that definitely not sex that we’re totally not having?”

“Oh yeah,” James says, following forward and down when Steve pulls himself backward onto the bed and lies back. “Not a chance. Where's that vibrator?”

**Author's Note:**

> Café Quoffie is where Stumptown Roasters are in Madison Square North, for the purposes of this chapter. Madison Square North is also referred to as NoMad which haha ‘nomad’ okay I’ve had my fun. Originally Qu-offie was going to be Queerfie but then I misread the prefix ‘Queerf’ and so that was out. Plus Quoffie sounds like ‘coffee’ in a NY accent so there’s that. 
> 
> Also, fuck you, ‘Jakey.’
> 
> If you're interested in getting me to write something for you, head on over to [my tumblr!](https://justanotherstonyfan.tumblr.com) Info in Bio.
> 
> Here is [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) if you'd like to know the dates of the occurrences in this fic up to part 10, and here is a [a link to the next part of the timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/cb64da10fd7e3bf9ece90992c80a6c7f/tumblr_pnkd4q2uSH1s2056to1_500.png) from part 11 to 21.


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